Centaur Childer
by InferiorBeing
Summary: HarryDraco Hagrid refuses to leave Harry with ‘those’ muggles, but there is an accident when bringing Harry to Hogwarts which results in Harry being raised by Centaurs.
1. The Childer

**Title:** _Centaur Childer  
_**Author:** InferiorBeing  
**Main Pairing:** Harry/Draco… eventually…  
**Side Pairing(s):** to be updated as side pairings show up  
**Rating:** PG-13 or T  
**Warnings:** homosexuality/heterosexuality, human body transfiguration, implied relationship between a Centaur and a human (eventually), copious references to Greeko/Roman mythology (explained in footnotes for those who need them), and copious usage of Latin  
**Disclaimer:** Insert witty sentence about how I lay no claim to owning anything owned by JKR here…  
**Summary:** Hagrid refuses to leave Harry with 'those' muggles, but there is an accident when bringing Harry to Hogwarts which results in Harry being raised by Centaurs.  
**Additional Author's Note:** _**Please read, you guys know I only write these for important reasons!!**_ Not in this chapter, but most likely starting next chapter there will be A LOT OF LATIN! Like _spoken_ Latin, not just Latin spells. As always, for those of you familiar with my stories, I will place a literal (sometimes figurative) translation next to the Lain in parenthesis for those who need it. In an effort to justify myself, I am a Chemistry/Latin double major in college, so I do know what I am doing. However, I will admit that I haven't yet taken the dreaded "Latin Prose Comp" class, and I am human, so I will most likely err a few times in my composition. If you are also a Latin fanatic like myself, and you see an error, please let me know and I shall be happy to take it into consideration/argue grammar with you/fix it. Please though, if you are going to make such a comment, be aware of whether I've given a figurative or literal translation… I've had people attempt to behead me for a figurative translation… let's not do that again, ok? It's for the glory of the Roman language, not for my ego. Other than that, please enjoy my forays into what I consider the most beautiful language ever spoken.

_Chapter One: The Childer_

"Magorian, he is dying."

"No!" Magorian's reply was more forceful than physical assault would have been, as he cradled the dark-haired body in his arms. The torso twitched and thrashed wildly in his hold, slick with sweat, moaning pitifully as the mare body below the torso struggled to give birth.

"Please, Magorian," Firenze tried again to plead with the head of the herd. "Bane will die, too, if the foal is not removed. The foal is already dying. There is nothing we can do."

Bane's own head shook back and forth as Magorian struggled to hold him steady. "Don't… let them," the mare Centaur's whisper was harsh against the muted sounds of the Forest. "Please…"

Firenze looked away as the stallion Centaur's face grew clouded. There were too few foals born to Centaurs that each one was precious. It was not as it had been, when Centaurs had ravaged the countryside – no longer could they procure mothers for their race from among humans. The wizards had seen to that. Now they could only rely on those of the herd born with the trappings of a mare to produce new generations. But there were few of those; most Centaurs were born geldings. Just as the birth of a stallion brought Centaurs great joy, so was the birth of a mare in these times.

Yet, to throw away a foal was a great loss, mourned more than the death of a fully grown Centaur. And this would be Magorian's foal that they would allow to die. Bane himself would rather die than allow that to happen.

For once a mare Centaur failed to give birth, that Centaur would never be fertile again. Bane would sacrifice his life - without a thought - for this foal, because without it he would be worthless to Magorian.

He was a fool, Frienze had often thought, if he could not see that Magorian treasured him much more than just as a father for his foals. But Bane had never been able to see just how much the stallion Centaur did care for the mare Centaur that he had fought for and won so long ago.

"Firenze." Magorian's voice was thick with sorrow, even as the stony features refused to allow any emotion upon their countenance. "Kill the foal."

Bane wailed and thrashed at the words, but Magorian was unmoved, watching with fathomless eyes as the foal was birthed quickly once dead. The mare's movements grew still – too still – as the umbilical cord was cut from the corpse.

"He would have been a gelding," Firenze said at last, into the stillness. Neither parent responded. Gelding or not, it was the loss of a foal. And not only one foal, but any and all foals that Bane might ever have birthed for Magorian.

Bane was listless in Magorian's arms, his breathing slow and ragged. However, with attentive care, he would live, and Firenze did not need to tell Magorian that. He suspected it was all Magorian could think of at the moment.

An ominous sound, like thunder, rolled through the clearing, coming from the east. Magorian was alert in an instant, but he did not move from his spot on the hard ground.

One of the scouts burst into the clearing. "Something approaches the Forest. It flies low to the treetops."

Not for the first time, Frienze saw Magorian torn between duty and what he personally wished to do. But duty to the herd had always stood between Magorian and Bane, and tonight would be no different.

"Firenze, you will remain here. I will return shortly." Firenze moved to sit in Magorian's place, to keep Bane's head off the hard ground beneath him, as the leader of their herd stood and quickly headed towards the east.

The clearing quickly became silent – as silent as a clearing in the Forbidden Forest could be. Firenze almost thought that Bane had fallen asleep, but his breathing was not quite regular enough for that. If the mare wished to pretend such, however, Frienze was not going to stop him.

He was a bit surprised when Bane spoke, though when he heard the words he was not surprised that Bane had said them. "He will need a new mare now."

"He will not want one." The reply was easy – anyone in the herd could have told Bane that. Bane would not have believed any of them.

"I am useless now-"

"Magorian did not fight for you because he viewed you useful," Frienze cut him off. As one of the few from their herd who had been there when Magorian had fought off six other stallions for Bane, Frienze could state that with certainty.

Bane scoffed. "Magorian leads the herd. It would be wrong for him not to have foals."

"Magorian has enough 'young' to take care of among our younger warriors and the other foals of our herd. I assure you, he will not feel slighted." Bane started to protest but Frienze stopped him. "The sadness Magorian feels now is that he could not give you a foal, Bane, not that you could not give him one. The strongest among us, who has lead us for centuries, and yet he still could not save both you and the foal. It is his own failure that he feels, not yours."

Bane fell quiet, listening to the sounds of the Forest, and pondering what Frienze had just said.

* * *

Magorian stopped in the center of the circle of Centaurs who stood on the eastern ridge of the Forbidden Forest, listening as the sounds of thunder grew louder.

Only it was no thunder; it was nothing of nature's make. It was of humans made.

"How dare they bring such a monstrosity to our Forest," one of the warriors snarled, his fingers tightening around his bow in an obvious wish to use the weapon.

"It comes to the castle, not to us," another, older, warrior rebuked the younger.

"Strange for it to approach from this way," Magorian spoke, and the others fell silent to listen. "The foals arrive at the castle from the west and avoid the Forest all together."

"Then this is no foal," another warrior jeered.

The rumbling grew louder and louder as they waited and, upon the horizon, a black form appeared. Instantly, all the warriors lifted their bows, aimed at the… thing… that might intend harm to their Forest.

It was black, and made a truly horrid sound as it flew, leaving a stench behind it on the wind that Centaurs normally associated with muggles and not wizards. Strange, then, that it must be a wizard using it; Magorian was certain that the muggles had not yet designed one of their horrid replacement horses for flight.

It flew low over the treetops, frantically, as if the rider was barely keeping control of his beast. It bounced and hopped as it hit the tops of the trees more than once.

"Is the rider not the half-giant who often visits our woods?" one of the older warriors asked, lowering his bow slightly to get a better look.

"So it appears," Magorian murmured, stepping closer to the edge of the cliff. What was the fool thinking, doing such? He was obviously not skilled at riding that particular muggle-made beast.

The black beast jarred once more, heavily, against a massive branch, as it neared them, and something fell from it. Magorian almost ignored it as the beast hurried past them, making a wide arc towards the castle, but then another sound drifted over the treetops as it fell.

A wail. The wail of a newborn.

Several warriors cried out in shock as Magorian cantered into the Forest, towards where the bundle fell. They could not understand his haste, and he did not bother to explain, as he raced into the clearing underneath the wailing bundle.

It was a near thing; he almost didn't catch it before it dashed upon the hard roots of the Forest floor.

"Magorian, what is it?" one of his warriors called out as they all joined him in the clearing.

"Why is it making that noise?"

"What are you doing?"

"Silence." At his word, they immediately fell silent – all except the newborn, who continued to cry. "It is a human foal."

There were sounds of disapproval. Some called for him to dash it upon the rocks or leave it where it had fallen. Others reminded him that this was not as it had been, that humans would soon be after their missing foal.

But that did not matter. "The foal was abandoned as a newborn," he stated, turning back towards the cliff. "Under Old Law, it is ours if we wish to raise it."

"Raise a human foal?" one of them called out in disbelief.

Magorian ignored him and the others who called after him before the older warriors told them to be silent. It was Old Law, the Rite of Childer, and though it was archaic, even wizards would obey it. Their new modern laws could never overrule the Old Law.

Magorian would not have cared even if they did. He had failed to give Bane one foal; he would not fail again. The Gods were always the ones who influenced humans to abandoning their young, it could not be a coincidence that this one had been abandoned mere minutes after the death of Bane's only foal.

Perhaps even he had begun to doubt in the Gods, who seemed so weak in the face of time and the works of humans. He would not doubt again.

* * *

Bane had drifted into sleep, only to awaken in an instant, as the heavy hoof-falls, which could only be made by Magorian, drew near.

Firenze, moving away from Bane now that his coniunx (lit. _spouse_) was approaching, stalled upon seeing the strange bundle in Magorian's arms, carried carefully as if it was something infinitely precious.

Magorian settled slowly by Bane's side as Firenze moved away from them, careful not to jar whatever it was he was holding.

"What is it, coniunx?" Bane asked, his voice heavy with sleep.

"A Childer," Magorian responded softly.

Bane started in amazement as Magorian carefully placed the small creature in his arms. "No human has resorted to the Rite of Childer in centuries," he breathed.

"No. But perhaps Juno(1) has more influence upon humans than even they believe," Magorian murmured, drawing both his coniunx and the newborn he held into his arms, "that she sends you a foal when Dis(2) has taken yours.

* * *

Firenze waited until he was sure Bane had fallen asleep, cradling the human foal, before he spoke. "You know who that must be."

Magorian nodded. "I have read the stars. I know who this foal is."

"Then you cannot be truly thinking of-"

"The Rite of Childer has been invoked," Magorian's words were low in volume, but harder than the strongest warrior's hooves, "No one, human or otherwise, can claim him now."

"You will raise him as a foal? He will soon grow into his own abilities."

"Then he will grow. But he shall be one of our foals."

"They will want him to go to that school."

"He will never be so far out of reach that we cannot bring him home."

Firenze decided he would not press Magorian further. He had already overstepped his bounds more than once, and though Magorian appeared not to have taken offence from his statements, one could never be truly sure. Besides, he reasoned as he left the pair and their new foal alone, Magorian was their leader – the wisest and the strongest of them all. If he said he understood who the foal was, he would understand the problems that would arise from adopting the foal into the herd as per the Rite of Childer.

* * *

Loud sobs radiated from one corner of Dumbledore's office, where Hagrid sat weeping uncontrollably. Many of the teachers in the office ignored him as they spoke in low voices, but Madam Pomfrey sat by him, holding one hand and telling him in a hushed tone that everything would be all right.

"We should head into the Forest and retrieve him immediately, Albus," the worried Transfiguration professor spoke. Her tone implied that she was surprised it hadn't already been done.

"I would wager, Headmaster," the Potions professor drawled, "that _if_ Potter even survived the fall into the Forest, he has most likely been found by something already."

The sobbing spiked louder by a few decibels at his words and Dumbledore waited until their gamekeeper had quieted down again before speaking.

"His name is still written in the Book of Enrollment, Severus. Harry Potter is, for now at least, alive. But it is strange…" The Headmaster turned the huge tome he had been looking at towards the two professors. "Look at his name. He is no longer registered as 'Harry Potter', but just as 'Harry'."

"Albus!" Professor McGonagall gasped, pointing to the page.

The Headmaster leaned over the page as a scrawling script began to appear next to Harry's name. It was rare indeed that the Book of Enrollment – created by the founders from a book in Rowena Ravencraft's library – ever added a footnote to a child's name. But it did happen, when there was something about a child which the Book knew Hogwarts itself should know, in order that the child be taught most effectively.

_**Harry, Centaur**_

Dumbledore gave the words a long look before a slow smile spread across his face. "So, the Rite of Childer has been invoked."

"Albus, surely that cannot be! The Rite of Childer is so old-"

"It is Old Law, Minerva," Dumbledore nodded, popping a sherbet lemon into his mouth. "And, as such, it surpasses our modern additions."

"I am surprised the Centaurs even wanted to raise a human," Snape sneered, looking almost disappointed that the Potter boy had not met some gruesome end.

"You cannot be thinking of leaving him to be raised there, Albus," Pomfrey called from the corner.

"Even if he has been adopted by the Centaurs, he is still a wizard. He must be raised by wizards," Professor Sprout agreed.

Dumbledore seemed not even to have heard them for a moment as he sat back in his chair. He thought for a moment of Harry Potter's relatives, the ones that he would have had to entrust Harry to. Then he thought of what he knew of Centaurs, and his eyes began to twinkle. "I think it would be best for Harry to grow up with his family."

The women in the room relaxed, while Snape raised an eyebrow. "And which family are you referring to, Headmaster?"

"Why, his only family, of course, Severus!" Albus replied gaily. "The Rite of Childer is very specific. The muggles are no longer his family. I'm sure they would be very relieved to know that."

McGonagall looked positively ashen. "But Albus-"

"Yes, he is not a Centaur, Minerva, but they chose to raise him. All Centaur foals are brought up with the utmost care, and cherished beyond even what our standards of love can provide. And who knows, almost anything is possible with magic. It will be Harry's choice what he will become, which is more than he would have had raised among we humans."

Dumbledore slowly got to his feet and popped another sherbet lemon into his mouth as he headed for the door. "I believe we could all use a good night's rest. Harry's new parents will want to spend some time with him, I think, before they will be willing to speak with someone about his future. I will visit them tomorrow."

* * *

That a raven was tapping furiously at the window of Lucius Malfoy's study was no rare coincidence. That one would do so at two in the morning – well, that was something different.

Lucius idly wondered what could possibly be so urgent that Severus Snape would be writing to him at this time of night and ordering his bird to give the letter to him so urgently.

Lucius almost didn't open the window. He was exhausted; there had been Ministry officials combing the Manor all night, looking for proof that he had been dabbling in the Dark Arts and a Death Eater by choice. They hadn't found anything, but it had been hell on Lucius' nerves, to watch them poke and prod at things they had no right to touch.

Yet, with the death of the Dark Lord, what else could he do but clear his name and bear with their idiocy in the process? Hopefully, Severus' message wasn't about that. Lucius had enough of smooth-talking and lying for one night. He wanted to rest, safe in dreams where the Dark Lord had not just been defeated by a mere child. And then tomorrow he would begin again to assure the Malfoy's place in society.

But the raven was _most_ insistent, and Severus would have taken into account how Lucius would feel, being interrupted like this at such an hour, so Lucius wearily accepted the letter and sat down at his desk to read it.

All traces of weariness fell away at Severus' crisp, explanatory words. He read the short letter through twice, before letting it fall to the desk and reaching for his wand. He cast a quick silencing charm upon the room before he allowed himself to lean back in his chair and laugh.

**Footnotes:  
****(1)**_Juno_ – I'm using the Roman names for the Greko/Roman gods because they correspond with the planets that the Centaurs read. I figure if the Centaurs have a religion (and in my story they do) they'd have to believe in the gods of myth that they themselves come from. Juno(Hera) herself is used here specifically because she – especially to the Romans – was the goddess of marriage and childbirth.  
**(2)**_Dis_ – This is another name, used by the Romans, for Pluto. It comes (directly) from their word "dis" which means "wealthy". They figured that, since all the gold and jewels and stuff are in the ground – i.e. the underworld – that Pluto was the wealthiest god, thus he gets a name to show that. I like using this name better than "Pluto" (if I'm sticking to Roman names and thus can't call him "Hades") because when I say Pluto I think of a dog… ah the legacy of Disney…  
**  
Additional Notes: (in which I try to anticipate questions from reviewers)  
****1.** _Centaur reproduction_ – Ok, this will be a rather long one guys, so bear with me please. And also please do not take offence if you love Grecko/Roman myth and therefore have already come to the conclusions I am going to explain for those who aren't as familiar. _Traditionally_, Centaurs were, in the Greek myth that they originate from (that the Romans then stole…) all male. I'll reiterate: there are NO Centaur females. Disney – in Fantasia – got it wrong, folks. They were animalistic and lustful, the perfect antagonist for the Greeks who valued order and control. As if to add insult to injury, one of the main "crimes" of the Centaurs were that they kidnapped and raped young Greek maidens – which I presume is where more Centaurs came from. This gave Greek males an excuse to exhibit their male prowess and fight/kill the horrific Centaurs. Mmkay? OBVIOUSLY, JKR has made her Centaurs a bit more G-rated… But this leaves us with a problem, doesn't it? If the Centaurs don't or can't (for reasons unstated but assumed) rape women anymore, how the devil do they reproduce? Well… what you see above is my answer. Centaurs are all "male" in that the human part of them will always be male. But as to what's below the human part… well, I'm not a horse rider or anything like that, but in our (admittedly) muggle society you have three types of horses: stallions, mares, and geldings. The third is made such by us for our own petty reasons, but for the sake of the plot which I have constructed, I'm making it so that most Centaurs are actually born that way. I mean, they aren't rampantly reproducing, which is what would obviously happen if there were only mares and stallions… and it sets up the scenario which I had in mind for Harry's adoption.  
**2.** _Harry – Centaur or no Centaur?_ In the VERY far future… like, say in at least ten chapters or so, Harry WILL become a Centaur. I hate to give a spoiler like this, but I feel it MUST be stated now, so that when I come to that point I don't upset anyone who would be squicked at it. Why might you be squicked? Well, read the point below.  
**3.** _Harry/Draco_ – Yes, as you will shortly be seeing, Harry/Draco is coming once they're of age (or something like that). I can't say anymore as it will destroy some of the plot which is coming in chapter two. Harry will, as per my explanation in point two, become a Centaur (through transfiguration skills and such which I haven't really worked out yet). But I don't write sex of any kind, as anyone who has read other stories of mine knows. I'm sorry, I just can't. However, as anyone who has read 'Stigmata' or 'Demon Rising' knows, I am not squeamish. I'm a Latin Major here – Romans fucked anything they could (and then some)! Or, at least, they and their Greek counterparts wrote stories about it. If you are familiar with Greeko/Roman myth (the birth of the minotaur, Ovid's 'Metamorphosis', and any/all of Jupiter's "conquests" come to mind), then this story won't surprise you in terms of what I'll eventually imply. But I shall never write it explicitly, so if you want to pretend that Draco and Harry cuddled for a particular scene, go for it – I won't be disappointed. Harry WILL be a Centaur, Draco WILL still be hopelessly in love with him… in my normal PG-13 way. If you can't handle that, please don't force yourself to read it. (But, is this really a surprise? I know most of my readers will have read 'Black Truth', 'Stigmata', and/or 'Demon Rising' first… I _like_ creature fics. I like them a LOT. So is it really a surprise to my wonderful readers who have read my works before that I've progressed to this? I would hope not.)  
**4.** I will (hopefully) NEVER have another 'Additional Notes Section' this long again…

**status: beta'd by Ayeshah Harvey-Lomas**


	2. The Devil's Son

_Chapter Two: The Devil's Son_

The colt pressed back into the dense foliage that was his bedding as he tried to ignore the raised voices of his Sire and his Father. They sounded angry, and they were directing their voices at each other. Sire and Father never did such, not that Harry could remember. Never around him anyway… and never _about _him.

And they were raising their voices to each other about him – it was his fault.

Harry pulled his five-fingered front hooves up to his ears and tried to block them out, ignoring the strange wetness falling from his eyes.

* * *

"This is folly, Magorian, and I will not allow our foal to be subjected to such a risk!"

"It is not up to you to allow or disallow it, Bane." Magorian's front hoof slammed against the ground so hard that one of the nearby scouts jumped at the sound. "I will hear no more about this!"

"Is it not enough for them that we are allowing our foal to go to their school? Why must we-"

"Because it was decided, Bane, when our foal was a newborn, and we do not shy away from our decisions," Magorian interrupted his coniunx.

"It was a poor decision then," Bane hissed.

Magorian reared, his hooves coming dangerously close to Bane's chest. "How dare you say such to me?"

Bane met his glare defiantly, before dropping his gaze to the ground. "He's too young, Magorian."

There was a sigh from the older Centaur before gentle fingers coaxed Bane's chin up so that their gazes locked. "We are not sending Harry into battle, Bane. If he does not like the castle of the humans he can return home whenever he wishes. If he wishes to stay home, he does not ever have to go back. But he cannot make that decision if he never steps foot in the castle."

"But he is not just going to the castle!" Bane protested. "He will travel far away before coming back – into the midst of the humans! Anything could happen-"

"He will stay on the…" Magorian fumbled slightly over the strange word the old wizard had said, "-train the entire time. He will come back."

"And if he doesn't?" Bane challenged, his eyes wild. "What then?"

Magorian's features were hard, as if refusing to allow him to think of such an option. "Then we will bring him home. Petty laws and agreements with humans be damned, we will bring him home."

Bane was silent for a few moments, as if testing Magorian's will. "You see no harm coming to him? Truly?"

Magorian's smile was indulgent. He'd already checked the heavens twice tonight for his worried coniunx. "He will come to no harm. Changes will begin for him, he will begin to grow in ways we cannot teach, but he will be safe."

"And what of tomorrow?" Bane's voice was almost a whisper.

"We will be with him tomorrow. No matter who this human is that the old wizard is insisting he must meet, we will be there."

Bane sighed, all fight flowing from him at Magorian's calm words. "You will tell him then. All of it. Tomorrow. Before this… meeting."

"I will explain it all to him," Magorian agreed. "Tomorrow you will lead the scouts to the edge of the Forest. We will meet you when you have sent word that the humans are there."

* * *

It was not often that Sire woke Harry, but it always meant that something exciting was going to happen. Like when Sire had taken Harry on his first hunt and Harry had shot down a deer. Father had been so proud… and a bit annoyed that Sire had not allowed him to come along, but the first hunt was special – something only Sires did with their foals. It meant that his Sire thought him worthy to be a warrior. It had been the happiest day of Harry's life.

But this was not like that day. Sire said that Harry did not need his bow or arrows today. This puzzled Harry. They were walking alone through the Forest, and Sire had his weapons as always. Sire seemed in no rush to get to wherever he was taking Harry, which was strange because Sire disliked if any warrior was inefficient. Still, time alone with his Sire was time alone with his Sire, and Harry did not often have such a privilege.

It wasn't as if his Sire avoided Harry and Father, no – Sire tried to be with them as much as he could. But Sire was important to more than just Harry and Father. Sire was important to all the Centaurs. He was the leader of their herd, and it was not often that he had time to be alone with his family.

Though, Harry had confided to his Father that he _knew_ that only he and Father loved Sire the most. Father had laughed and told Harry that he was right, and that Sire knew it.

So Harry would just enjoy the rare gift of time with his Sire, watching the Forest slowly move by from his seat on his Sire's back, his front hooves loosely gripping his Sire's sides, his back hooves swinging back and forth on either side of his Sire's back.

His Sire stopped at a strange cliff and Harry leaned around his Sire to see the view. The Forest lay out before them, beautiful and wet in the early morning light.

"I was standing here when I first saw you," his Sire said and Harry looked more carefully at the ground they stood upon. "It was in that clearing that you came to me."

Harry leaned over his Sire's other side to see the small clearing a little ways below and away. "Father birthed me over there?" he asked.

"No. He didn't." Sire slowly lowered himself to the ground, and Harry slid off his back to sit upon his front hooves, his Sire's arms loosely holding him in place. "Your Father did not want you to know how you were birthed until you were ready, and I have decided that you are ready to know."

Harry frowned, thinking back to the night before. "Does Father want me to know?"

His Sire's laugh was a low vibration against Harry's back. "You are observant, my colt. No, your Father does not want you to know. Were it up to him, you would never be told."

But Sire had decided to tell Harry, and Harry knew that Father would have no say if his Sire had decided something.

"You were not birthed as any of the other foals were birthed," his Sire said, "You were birthed in the old ways."

Harry frowned, confused. "The old ways?"

"You remember how Flint was birthed?" his Sire asked and Harry nodded his head. He had thought it rather disgusting, but it had been strangely wonderful to watch another Centaur come into the world. "And you see how Flint does not look the way you look?"

Harry nodded again. He had been sad to see how Flint looked. Harry had assumed that he had not grown into his lower body yet, for all the other foals were much older than he was. But Flint had come into the herd looking much more like the other foals than Harry.

"That is because Flint was born of a Centaur, and you were not."

"I wasn't? But Father is a Centaur!"

"But your Father did not birth you. You were birthed by a human woman."

Harry felt that strange wetness coming from his eyes again. "Then… I'm not like Father? I'm not like you, Sire?"

The arms tightened. "Never think that, little foal, never!" His Sire's voice was so sure, and Harry smiled through the strange feeling of cold water falling down his face. "You are as much a part of the herd as your Father or I. You are as much our foal as Flint is to his parents. You were merely birthed differently. It is part of the Old Law and there are not many humans who will invoke Old Law now. It is why you are so rare, why you are so special, Harry."

The wetness had stopped and Harry gazed up at his Sire's face in awe. "I'm part of Old Law?" Father had told him of the Old Laws, Laws handed down to all beings by the Gods, thousands of years before his birthing, when they would still visit the mortal world. Father had told him how the Centaurs had lived under Old Law, how great they had been, how humans had feared them.

It was not so now, and Harry thought that humans were foolish, pitiful creatures.

"Yes, you are. You were a very powerful foal, Harry. You have grown into a fine colt. But you are about to grow in ways that are foreign to many Centaurs because they are so young and did not live during the Old Law. So I have decided to explain to you how you were birthed, and how you came to be with us."

Harry listened as his Sire explained that he was birthed to human parents, just as Centaurs of old were when they would pick human women to bear their foals. More stallions and mares were born from the union of a Centaur and a human, than from two Centaurs, and it was much less of their concern if the human mother died birthing than if a Centaur mare died. This Harry could understand. He remembered the look of awe mingled with fear that Flint's Sire had worn all throughout his birthing, as if at the slightest mishap he could lose everything he held dear.

Unlike the Centaurs of old, however, his Sire had not sired him. "This is why you look the way you do, Harry. Your outer form is human because that is what you were birthed with." Harry looked at his strange five-fingered front hooves – his _hands _– and his strange five-toed back hooves – his _feet_ – with new interest.

His Sire continued the story – Harry's story – as Harry looked at himself with depreciative eyes. After Harry's birth, he said, a terrible creature had come to Harry.

"One like the Lapiths?(1)" Harry asked.

"Yes, very much like the Lapiths. He wished to destroy you. He destroyed your birth parents, but you he could not."

Harry grinned. He had always known that the Lapiths had only been able to defeat them because Apollo had favored them at the last minute. And this proved it. He had been only a newborn, and the Lapith had been defeated! Humans truly were weak, pitiful…

Harry felt the wetness begin again. "Am I a Lapith too?" His outer form was human, wasn't it?

"No, you are not." His Sire's voice was strong and allowed no question. Harry grinned in relief and snuggled back into his Sire's arms. "Because your birthing parents were dead, you were given to the Rite of Childer," his Sire explained. "That is why you are a part of Old Law. Though your form may appear human, you are not."

Harry pondered this very hard. He knew of the Rite of Childer, his Father had made sure he knew all of the Old Laws, but he could not fathom that he was a part of it. Old Law was so ancient, and so great, that he thought someone had to be truly special – like his Sire – to be a part of it. He told his Sire so and his Sire laughed.

"You are special, Harry. So very special."

Harry wanted to know why. He didn't _feel_ very special after all, he felt the same as he'd always felt.

"Tell me, why did I forbid you to gaze upon the heavens last night?"

"You said it would be too frightening for me to see," Harry responded easily. He had obeyed his Sire; he hadn't taken one peek at the stars, though he had really, really, wanted to.

"And it was frightening. Your Father was very frightened by it."

"Is that why he raised his voice to you?" Harry asked, his voice very small.

"Yes," his Sire nodded gravely. "That is why."

"What did the stars say?" Harry asked.

"They showed you, Harry. Last night, the sky was full of your future. You are strong, colt, and growing stronger every day, but you are also beginning to grow in a strength that we cannot train. It is a strength unknown to us. It is a strength only certain humans possess."

"Then I don't want it!" Harry spat.

"Your Father would be relieved to hear that, Harry, but I would like you to think on it for a bit more," his Sire murmured. "If you choose to accept this strength, you will have to live among humans for a very long time. They will, I assume, act how humans tend to act now because of their new laws. They will be rude, and loud, and they will likely not even deign to speak to you in the old tongue as they should when speaking to a Centaur. Even their most wise and powerful have forgone the old ways, and you would have to bear it without explaining their error to them."

"It sounds horrible," Harry decided. "I don't want to."

"If you did this, though, you would gain mastery of their strange strength. The strength which drove out the old ways."

Harry blinked and began to revise his opinion. But his Sire was not finished.

Very slowly, his Sire added. "Their strange strength would give you the ability to make your outer form match what you are inside."

Harry looked down at his strange, not-Centaur form. "How long is a very long time?" he asked quietly. He didn't like the idea of living with humans for a very long time.

His Sire gently lifted him back onto his back as he stood and turned, so that they looked over the western edge of the Forest. "Do you see that shape to the west of our Forest?"

"Yes. It is very ugly."

"That it is. Humans call that a castle, Harry. They live there."

Harry snorted. Why humans had to build such monstrosities in order to live, he did not know.

"Right now, they are using it as a school for their young. You would have to live there with them for seven falls, winters, and springs."

"That is a long time," Harry grumbled unhappily.

"Yes it is. But it is not so very long, and look how close the castle is to our Forest. Whenever you wish to come home, we will always be here."

Harry nodded solemnly, as only a foal so young could do. "So if I got sick of the humans, I could come home whenever I wanted?"

"The humans have promised us so. They wish very much for you to attend their school."

Harry thought for a bit before a grin lit his face. "Will I look like you and Father when I change?"

His Sire's laugh rolled through the Forest treetops like a spring rain. "I would hope so, my foal."

Harry nodded. As his Sire began to walk back into the trees of the Forest, he began to list off what he would like to look like. "I like your mane better than Fathers, but Father's tail is very pretty."

"I'm sure you will look exactly as you wish to look," his Sire assured him.

"Do you think I could have golden hooves?" Harry eyed his toes critically.

"Now what would you do with golden hooves, young one?"

"They'd be pretty."

"That they would. But I doubt they would be very strong, my foal."

"Then I would just make them _look_ golden."

"Ah, I see."

His Sire walked westward, again in no hurry, but not as slowly has he had walked earlier in the morning.

"Are we going somewhere, Sire?"

"The humans have brought you what they believe you will need during your time with them."

Harry blinked in confusion. "But I don't need anything."

"We do not, young one, but humans have strange ways of doing things. They cover themselves with strange coverings that they call clothes – and I suspect they will want you to do the same. They take care of a multitude of material possessions that they somehow cannot see the uselessness of. They teach through the use of objects, with written word, instead of explaining things the way we do."

"Humans are so odd," Harry groaned. Did he really have to spend almost twenty one seasons with them? It seemed so unfair.

"They wish to give you these things today, so that you will have them for tomorrow."

"What is tomorrow?" Harry asked. And what did humans have to do with it anyway?

"Tomorrow the rest of the human foals arrive at the castle."

"Will I have to leave tomorrow?" Harry gasped.

His Sire nodded regally. "Your Father persuaded me to tell you as close to the time when you would have to leave us as I could, so that you would not spend your days worrying about it."

Oh. Harry could understand that. Father was always so practical.

* * *

Harry counted about half of the warriors from the herd waiting at the western edge of the Forest; all with weapons ready, but not drawn. They were watching two humans who stood there, two large wooden… somethings between them.

Father stood behind the row of warriors, and Harry could tell from his expression that he did not like this at all, but was trying very hard not to do something rash. Sire always chided Father for doing rash things.

As his Sire neared them, Harry got a look at the two humans. They were very strange looking, not at all like the human trappings of Centaurs. Their skin was wrinkled like the bark of a tree, and their hair was white, though one of them had a lot more hair than the other. The one with more hair also wore much stranger… his Sire had called them _clothes_… than the other, although they both looked rather ridiculous to Harry.

"Ah, and that would be young Harry," the long haired one said softly as his Sire came into the human's view.

His Sire lifted him to the ground as they joined his Father in the circle of warriors and Harry had to fight the urge to hide between his Father's legs as he had always done when he was scared.

The humans were both smiling at him – beaming, really. They both bowed low to the ground as his Sire stepped forward from the circle of warriors, Harry and his Father trailing after him.

"Ave, dominus Centauri," (lit. _Hail, master of Centaurs,_) the less lavish of the two humans spoke, his pronunciation halting but adequate. "It has been long since I have spoken the old tongue like this," he added, "but I wish you no disrespect."

His Sire nodded to them and they smiled again. Turning their smiles to Harry, the other one spoke softly. "Ave, Harry," (lit: _Hail, Harry,)_ he said quietly, "It is an honor to finally meet you. I am Albus Dumbledore."

Harry nodded. He wasn't sure if he should speak to these strange humans – did all humans look this strange? His Father prodded him gently with one hoof. "Salvete," (lit: _hello all_) he mumbled. He had no idea which name to use – and why would a human have two names anyway? What possible use could humans have for two names?

"Harry is willing to try your school, Dumbledore. If he does not like it, he will return home," his Sire stated, and Harry's Father pushed him forward to his Sire's side.

The human – Albus Dumbledore – beamed at his Sire. "That is wonderful news!" He held out his hand to Harry. "We have brought you what you'll need if you are to go to school. Would you like to see?"

Harry looked up at his Sire, and his Sire nodded. Hesitantly, he took the strange human's hand – so similar, and yet so different from his own – and allowed him to pull him towards the nearest strange wooden object.

"This is a trunk Harry, we use it to hold our things. It is yours." Dumbledore – if his Sire called him by his second name, then Harry would too – opened the trunk. Inside were strange things and Harry goggled at them. What use could he possibly have for these?

"These are your books, Harry," Dumbledore explained, showing him the thick, heavy, blocks on one side of the trunk. "These are your clothes."

Clothes, Harry thought, were truly strange things. They came in all manner of shapes, he noticed, and they could be either heavy or light.

"I'm sure your Sire can explain to you how we wear them," Dumbledore said gently. Harry looked at his Sire, who nodded, even though the look on his face showed his obvious disinterest in 'clothes'.

"What is this?" Harry asked, his voice faltering slightly over the strange words. He had learned this new tongue of the humans long ago, but he hated using it, so his pronunciation was a bit rusty. He lifted a creamy-yellow sheet which felt like the large leaves that his Father and Sire would sometimes use to write things on.

"That is paper, Harry. We use it to write messages to each other." Harry blinked at him, as he heard his Father let out a warning growl. His Father didn't like something about the paper? He looked back, wondering.

His Father was indeed scowling, as was his Sire. But why?

"Ah, I made sure to give young Harry papyrus instead of the modern paper."

Both his parents relaxed and Harry looked between them in bewilderment. His Father nodded at him in an "I'll explain later" gesture and he grinned, turning back to the strange objects.

There were all manner of things that Dumbledore fished out of the trunk. Quills – to write on the paper. Ink – to make the marks with the quills. Both of these Harry understood as Centaurs sometimes chose to use such themselves. Potions ingredients – and these were _very _strange. A cauldron – a strange thing that Harry had no ideas as to what it could _possibly_ be used for. A bizarre thing that wobbled back and forth which Dumbledore called 'scales'. And an oblong object that caused Dumbledore to practically beam at him s he passed it over.

"This is a telescope, Harry."

"What does it do?" Harry asked, holding it gingerly between two fingers.

"We use it to see the stars up close."

Harry looked at the item with newfound interest. He could use this to see the stars better? He'd always thought they looked so very far away, and he had always wanted to get a better look. Then again, his vision had always been fuzzy – it had worried his Father at times.

Dumbledore frowned slightly as Harry squinted at the strange telescope, trying to see it better, trying to understand how it could work the way Dumbledore claimed it did.

"Harry, when you see things, are they slightly fuzzy?" he asked.

Harry blinked up at him and nodded.

Dumbledore said nothing more about it as Harry put the 'telescope' back in its spot in his trunk.

"We want to give you one more thing, Harry," he said, "And that is the reason that Mr. Ollivander is here."

Harry looked over at the other human, who had remained very quiet since greeting his Sire. "What is it?"

"It is a wand. It is what we use to channel our magic."

Harry blinked in confusion. Magic? Humans had magic? _Oh_, that must be the strange strength that his Sire had said few humans possessed – like Harry did. So they must use these 'wand' things to access their magic. Because they were weak creatures when it came right down too it and they couldn't use their inner strengths like Centaurs or the other creatures of the Forest. Harry doubted that, when he mastered this strength, he would need one, but he would go along with their foolishness. Sire had said he shouldn't bother to correct them, after all.

"Every wand is different, Harry, just as every creature is different. They are made differently and respond to different aspects of a person. Which is why we brought many of them along so you can find the one which best suits you."

Dumbledore nodded to the other… trunk, larger than Harry's, that Ollivander was standing next to.

He beckoned Harry forward and opened it. Inside were many thin boxes. Harry looked at them in confusion. The wands were inside those? Or did the wands have many parts? They didn't look nearly as powerful as he thought they should.

"Every Ollivander wand," Ollivander said, picking up the top box and opening it, "-has a core of a powerful magical substance, Harry." Harry looked at the 'wand' incredulously. _That _was a wand? It looked like a stick – like those he could just pick up in the Forest. "We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry nodded, still looking dubiously at the stick. It had to be a stick! It really did!

"Right then, Harry. Try this one." Ollivander passed the stick to Harry. It was very straight for a stick, Harry mused, holding it awkwardly. How did humans manage to find sticks so straight? "Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just give it a wave."

Harry did so, feeling quite foolish, and trying to ignore the slight sniggers coming from some of the younger warriors, who probably found it just as foolish as he did. Ollivander snatched it back immediately and replaced it with another.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try-"

Harry tried. And tried. And felt more and more ridiculous doing it. Some wands did nothing at all when he touched them – but he soon learned that they were the safer ones. Some let out strange – but very loud – sounds. Others actually _did_ things. One let out a harsh wine and a tree split in half. Another one nearly singed the tail of one of the warriors. It actually _did_ singe Dumbledore's beard, who laughed and batted out the smoking hair with his hand.

The number of sticks – wands – mounted higher and higher as he slowly worked his way through the trunk of boxes. He was reaching the bottom when Ollivander paused for a moment, hand stalling over a box which looked no different from the others. "I wonder, now – yes, why not." He lifted that box out of the trunk and passed the wand to Harry. It looked – to Harry – very much like the dozens he'd tried before. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand and felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. Not knowing what he was doing – nor even _why_ he did it – he brought the wand up above his head and swishing down. A stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like fireworks, exploding silently in the air around him.

The younger warriors jostled each other, calling for him to do it again, and Dumbledore clapped while Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh very good."

Harry grinned back at his parents and their proud smiles. He carefully placed the wand in his trunk with his other human things and closed the lid. Ollivander began packing the wands back into the trunk, muttering a word over and over to himself. "Curious."

Harry ignored him as his parents approached. "We will keep your trunk in the castle for you," Dumbledore said, and Harry's Sire nodded. Centaurs had little use for human things in their Forest.

Harry's Sire lifted Harry onto his back and Harry knew that the Centaurs wished to get away from the humans as quickly as possible. That they would subject themselves to the presence of humans for so long just for him sent strange warm feelings through his body.

Dumbledore handed Harry a small bundle of the strange clothes and placed his wand on top of them, even though Harry himself had tried to pack them all away. He was speaking to his Sire now. "Hagrid will come and get Harry tomorrow and will assure that he gets on the train with no mishaps. He will also be there when Harry returns to make sure that Harry is safely escorted to the castle."

"What's a train?" Harry asked, burying one hand in his Sire's mane.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled when he looked at Harry. "It is how the other students arrive at school. Many friendships are formed on the journey to school – more perhaps than are formed inside the school itself. I'm sure your parents will explain it to you in detail, Harry."

Well, Harry knew that they _would_, but he wanted to know _now._ Yet, his Sire had turned and was walking back to the Forest, so he would have to wait until after the day's meal to ask his questions.

The two humans watched them go until the last tail disappeared into the trees.

"I think we may expect great things from Harry," Ollivander said slowly, as Dumbledore closed Harry's trunk and shrunk it to a more manageable size.

"It's Fawkes' tail feather, is it not?" Dumbledore asked gravely, the twinkle in his eye diminishing in light of the grave conversation.

"It is. The brother of Lord Voldemort's wand now rests in the possession of his destroyer."

Dumbledore's smile was light, but weighed down by the severity of a future he doubted even the Centaurs could see. "Then all we can do is give Harry the tools he will need to carve his own destiny," he said as they turned and walked back towards Hogwarts.

* * *

Harry was nearly bouncing with excitement as his parents finally – _finally –_ chose a large mossy bed to be theirs for the night. The rest of the herd was doing such only a few yards away on each side, and the stars twinkled overhead with such a brightness… But Harry had so many questions he wanted to ask, so he said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Why do you dislike paper?"

His Sire sighed and lay down on the bed without answering. His Father, though, was all to happy to explain it in great detail. He talked about how humans made paper – how they killed trees to do it. By the time he was done, Harry was staring at him in shock. How could humans do such a thing? It was barbaric!

"Now, Bane, don't frighten him," Magorian said wearily, wrapping an arm around Harry and pulling him close. "Other humans may decide to use paper, and I would assume your books are made from it, but you will not use it. Remember that Dumbledore said your paper is papyrus?"

Harry nodded, his sick feelings of shock melting away as his Sire explained about how humans didn't used to cut down trees like they did now, that they made their paper from strange grasses that grew so abundantly they might have been weeds. Harry's paper, his Sire explained, was that and not the paper made from dead trees.

"What other questions do you have little one?" his Sire asked, pulling his Father close against the cooling night air.

Harry asked all of his questions, and his parents dutifully answered – sometimes sparking new questions with their words. They told him all about the train, how it was what humans used instead of horses, how it would smell awful but humans could somehow either stand it or not smell it. They told him about how the train would take him to a place far away which the humans had decided as a gathering place for their young. They would hurry their foals onto the train and let the train take them to the school. Since Harry was – for the most part – already at the school, he would ride the train to that gathering point and remain _on the train_ – and his Father emphasized this _very_ clearly – and wait for the human children to settle themselves before riding back to the school.

Harry thought it a great waste of time, and told his parents so.

His Father snorted and gave his Sire an "I told you so" look which his Sire completely ignored. "Dumbledore spoke true when he said that bonds are formed on that train," his Sire explained. "It is the first chance the human young have to meet with their peers, to decide who they will create their own herds with and who they will not. Were you to miss it, you would be singled out because of it. And we do not wish for that to happen."

Harry mulled that over, looking up at the patch of sky visible through the trees. He frowned, his thoughts of tomorrow falling away as he looked at the strange light that was not at all where he thought it should be.

"Why is Venus like that?" he asked.

"Why do you think?" his Father asked and Harry pouted. His parents always did this! They made him puzzle it out for himself instead of explaining it to him!

"Because… it's moving faster than it should?"

"And what does that mean, young one?" his Sire asked.

"It's falling?"

"No. It is rising."

Oh. _Oh._ Harry smiled up at the sky and the rising star of the love goddess. Venus was rising early. Perhaps tomorrow would not be so boring after all.

* * *

His Sire, very patiently, explained how humans wore their strange clothes the next morning as Harry struggled to get them on correctly. His Father refused to help, watching in amusement as the _sleeves_ got tangled in his fingers and his _shirt_ somehow turned itself inside out.

Harry _hated _shoes. And socks. His feet felt so strange in them, and he was sure that he would have to be very careful when his Father and Sire brought him to Hagrid today not to hurt his Father with the heels of the shoes.

Harry had met Hagrid before, once. Well, not really _met_ him. His Father hadn't wanted them to meet, for some reason, but he had been in the same clearing as Hagrid a few times. Even though Hagrid was liked by the Centaurs – much more than humans anyway – the first time Hagrid had come in the same clearing as Harry, purely by chance, Harry's Father had instantly turned and carried Harry away. Harry had waved at Hagrid as they left and Hagrid had made strange blubbering happy sounds as he spoke to Harry's Sire, saying how healthy and happy Harry looked.

Now, whenever Harry had a glimpse of Hagrid and the chance to wave, it caused Hagrid to drop whatever he was doing and wave back with a broad smile on his face. Harry thought it quite funny.

Hagrid was waiting for Harry and his parents with that same smile as they stepped slowly from the Forest. Harry's Father lifted Harry down from his back slowly, as if prolonging his dismount for as long as he could.

"Now, remember, if there is something you don't like about that school – anything at all – you come straight home," his Father said for the fourth time that morning.

"Anything within reason," his Sire added tiredly – he'd said that four times this morning too.

Harry promised he would as both his parents bent down to hug him goodbye, and then scampered over to the half-giant.

"Ave Hagrid!" he said, waving.

Hagrid waved back with that big goofy grin on his face. "Ave, Harry! Ave!" He looked up at the two Centaurs watching warily and bowed to them. "I'll make sure nothing happens to him, I swear."

Magorian nodded, but did not move. It was obvious they were going to stand there until Harry was out of sight.

"Oh, Harry, I got you summat – thought you might like it." He brought his other hand out from behind his back, where he'd been hiding it. Sitting primly on one finger was a beautiful white owl.

"I raised her m'self just for you, Harry. Her name's Hedwig. Owls like her deliver letters to whoever you want, so I figured you might want to write your parents when you're up at school a few times and I thought you'd like her."

Harry thought she was wonderful. He'd never seen an owl up close like that before.

Hedwig looked as closely at him as he was at her, before leaning forward and nipping at his ear. She launched into the sky and headed for a strange building not too far away from the edge of the Forest.

"She lives in the Owlery with the other owls, but she'll deliver any message you want, Harry."

Harry thanked the giant many times, though he wondered why he would need to send a message if his parents would always be here in the Forest. Still, it was a marvelous gift.

"Oh! Got somat else for you, from Dumbledore. He said he talked to you about how things look fuzzy, and he thought of these." Hagrid handed Harry a very strange looking thing. It looked like two circles held together with strange hooks at either end. Hagrid carefully placed them upon Harry's nose and Harry blinked in astonishment.

Wherever he looked through the strange circles, everything was clear! They felt very strange on his face, and he thought he would still prefer not to wear them – but it was thrilling to see things without the customary blur.

"Well, we'd best be going, Harry, the train leaves in a little bit."

Harry couldn't stop looking back to see if his parents were still there as he followed Hagrid away from the Forest. Every time he looked back, they always were.

* * *

Harry didn't like the train. He _loathed_ the train. It was a huge… thing… that looked nothing like horses. It was ugly and let off a smell from its top that was disgusting. But Hagrid didn't seem to notice, helping him into the train and telling him to pick whatever place he liked to sit down in, and that he would be right here when Harry came back.

The train didn't so much move, Harry thought, as he watched Hagrid's form grow smaller and smaller, it _lurched_. It made him feel sick for a while, before he got used to the strange movement – so unlike how it felt when his Father or Sire took him places. And humans _enjoyed_ riding this thing? He couldn't understand it.

The clothes felt itchy on his skin, the glasses – for Hagrid had told him the strange circle things were called glasses – on his nose were heavy, and his shoes were like walking around in stones. How humans could _choose_ to live this way, he would never know.

The sun had climbed high into the sky when the train entered a very strange place. Out the window Harry could see stone, and only stone, arranged in strange shapes and towering over the train. And he could see humans. Humans mulling around _everywhere_. And there were so many of them!

But they came in groups of three or four, sometimes two or five – very small numbers for herds, and he could hardly think that a herd would allow it's young to go to such a strange place without the full protection that only the herd could provide. Foolhardy creatures indeed.

And they were _loud_. Everywhere, voices called other voices, the strange cacophony of the human tongue bouncing all around, every which way, and Harry could hardly make out what they were saying. It took him a moment for Harry to realize that one of those sounds had actually been directed at _him_.

When he did realize it, he looked up to see a boy with hair the color of a sunset looking at him apologetically. "Is anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing at the seat across from Harry's. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry _did_ mind, but he didn't have the chance to explain as two other boys – looking very much alike – with the same hair as the first boy, loomed into the doorway.

"Hey, Ron, have you found a seat yet?" one asked, practically pushing him into said seat.

"Listen, we're going down to the middle of the train – Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

The 'Ron' boy muttered something that sounded like "Right", as he settled himself into the seat.

"What's that?" one of the – they must be – twins asked suddenly, pointing at Harry.

Harry blinked up at them, wondering what the boy could possibly be talking about.

"Blimey," the other said, "Are you-"

"He _is_," the first said, "Aren't you?"

"Aren't I what?" Harry asked slowly, careful to make sure he didn't trip over the language that they were so easily tossing around.

"_Harry Potter,_" chorused the look-a-likes.

Harry stared at them. Who was Harry Potter? "I'm Harry," he answered at last, quelling the rising anger he could feel, like the stomach ache he got if he ate too many blueberries at once. How dare they assume to give him a human name…

The other boys gaped at him, both the twins and the boy across from him. "So that's really the…" the boy across from Harry gestured at Harry's forehead.

"The what?"

"The _scar_."

Harry shrugged and pushed back the fringe of hair that always fell over his forehead. Yes, he had a scar on his forehead. It was a mark of pride for Centaurs to show their scars – marks won in battle. Both his Sire and his Father had several, but Harry only had the one.

Again the boys gaped at him. "Blimey," one of the twins breathed before the other seemed to gather himself.

"We never introduced ourselves, Harry," he said. "Fred and George Weasly. And this is Ron, our brother."

Harry nodded but didn't say anything. The two in the doorway shuffled a bit before the one apparently called Fred said, "Well, see you later then," and they both left.

The boy, Ron, seemed to want to say something, but Harry turned his gaze to the window and the other boy said nothing.

Harry watched the countryside flying past, marveling inwardly at how different it was – trees were few and far between, and there weren't nearly _any_ of the strange plants that were so common in the Forest. He looked up slowly when the door to the compartment opened again, wondering if the twins were back for another round of gawking.

They weren't. A lone boy stood in the doorway. He looked over Ron briefly before dismissing him and looking at Harry.

If Ron's features were the color of sunset, this boy was the color of sunrise. His hair was golden and slicked back against his skull as if he just washed it, yet it didn't look wet. His features were sharp and cultured, much like Harry's Sire's features were. The boy paused slightly and Harry saw the grey-silver eyes glance up at his forehead before falling back to his face.

"Verus est?" (lit: _Is it true?_) he asked softly, and Harry blinked in surprise at the use of the old tongue. "Dixunt Harrium in cubiculo esse. Tu est? (lit: _They are saying that Harry is in this compartment. Is it you?_)(2)

"Ita vero," (lit: _It is true_, fig: _yes_) Harry responded, feeling a smile tease at his lips. This boy spoke the old tongue! And not haltingly, like that old man, Ollivander, had spoken it. He spoke it with the ease of one who was fluent and used to speaking such. Movement caught Harry's eye, and he became aware of two other boys standing behind this one. They were huge, at least compared to Harry's thin frame, and from how they were standing they looked as if they were this boy's protectors.

The boy saw where Harry was looking and nodded over his shoulder at each boy in turn. "Crabbe Goyleque sunt,". (lit: _They are Crabbe and Goyle,_) He turned back to Harry with a small smile, which did not look entirely innocent. "Et Malfoy sum. (lit:_ And I am Malfoy._) Draco Malfoy."

Ron – Harry had almost forgotten he was there – gave a slight cough that could have been a snigger, drawing both Harry and Malfoy's attention.

Malfoy glared at him, switching back to the common human tongue to speak to him. "You think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." He spoke the common tongue with as much precision as he spoke the old tongue, though the words sounded harsher, and he lost the beautiful elision which made the old tongue sound so fluid.

Ron sputtered and his face began to turn a shade of red that clashed completely with his hair, but Malfoy turned back to Harry as if deciding for himself that Ron wasn't there at all, somewhat as Harry himself had done not long before.

"Infelix est istum hominem patiendus es. Aliquae familiae magorum meliorum quam aliae sunt, tu adfirmo. Dubito te velle cum gente falsas tempum tui perdere." (fig: _It is unfortunate you have to endure such a human. Some wizarding families are better than others, I assure you. I doubt you want to waste your time with the wrong sort.)_

"Nolo," (lit: _I do not wish,_) Harry agreed.

"Possum adiuvare te ibi,(4)" (fig: _I can help you there_.)

He extended his hand toward Harry and Harry blinked at it, unsure of what to do. Finally he extended his own hand to match and Malfoy clasped it for a moment before letting it go. He must have done something right, because Malfoy was smiling. Ron, however, seemed a bit shaken.

"Amoveamus impurum.(5)" (fig: _Let us remove the filth._)

He stepped to one side as Crabbe and Goyle – Harry didn't exactly remember which was which, stepped inside the compartment and muscled Ron from his seat, before throwing him into the hallway and taking up their positions again on either side of the door.

Draco Malfoy sprawled himself over the seat that Ron had just been removed from and matched Harry's amused smile with one of his own.

**Footnotes:  
****(1)**_The Battle of the Lapiths and the Centaurs_ – Very famous battle for the Greeks in their mythology, which Apollo (supposedly) presided over, leading the Greeks to victory against the Centaurs. There is some… gray area about how Centaurs came to be, but the version I subscribe to is that, originally, the first Lapith and the first Centaur were brothers – born of Apollo and a nymph, but while the Lapith was a great warrior the Centaur was an uncontrollable beast. In fact, the Lapiths were credited – by the Greeks – for having invented both the bridle and the bit. This battle represented – to the Greeks – the triumph of order over chaos as well as anything Greek over anything not-Greek. It makes sense the Centaurs would be a bit bitter about it…  
**(2)**_Cubiculum/Cubiculo_ – Yes, my fellow Latin scholars, Draco doesn't technically say "compartment", he technically refers to the small bedrooms you find in houses. But what else to you expect me to use for a little train car?? It's the smallest room in a house that I could think of. If you have any ideas, please let me know.  
**(3)**_Infelix est istum hominem patiendus es. Aliquae familiae magorum meliorum quam aliae sunt, adfirmo tu. Dubito te velle com gente falsas tempum tui perdere._ – Yes, fellow Latin scholars, literally Draco says "It is unlucky/unfortunate you must suffer such a nasty human. Some families of wizards are better than other families, I assure you. I doubt that you want to waste your time with the misled sort." Isn't Draco so pleasant?  
**(4)** _Possum adiuvare te ibi._ – Yes, fellow Latin scholars, literally Draco says "I am able to help you there" but his trademark line sounds much better, ne?  
**(5)** _impurum_ – May I just take a moment to explain that this is why I love the Latin language? This wonderful adjective (impurus) can mean "filthy one" – meaning physically dirty - or it can mean "impure one" – meaning not pure, not perfect, or sinful. And, of course, knowing Draco, he probably means to use all those connotations at the exact same time – and in Latin you can do that!!

**Additional Notes:  
****1.** Harry's appearance – I just want to clear up any confusion that the first few paragraphs of this may have caused. Harry is not physically a Centaur yet. He looks just like Harry from the book/movie for now. However, having grown up with Centaurs he has some issues thinking about himself in terms other than their terms. Sorry if it caused some people some trouble. He will get a little better at thinking in "human" terms as he ages and learns more.  
**2.** _Old tongue/ Latin_ – You know, I almost didn't include the train scene at all (chapter was getting too bloody long) but I did because I kinda promised some people Draco would show up in this chapter. But this is just the tip of the iceberg on the Latin, dear readers. Everything Draco says to Harry and visa versa will be in the Old tongue – for reasons which will become clear later. I would recommend reading their conversations through twice – once to understand what they're saying and once just to enjoy the sounds of it. It's a beautiful language, ne? As the story progresses, never fear I _will_ translate all the Latin sentences. Certain words, like "ave" (hail!) I'll probably only translate once, because they're used so often it's annoying to repeat myself. But if you had a problem reading the last scene because of the Latin, please think about not continuing to read, or making yourself comfortable with it, because there's a very important reason to have things in the Latin and I won't be changing it.  
**3.** My lord, this is twenty pages long… I'm going to bed now…

**status: beta'd by Ayeshah Harvey-Lomas**


	3. What Happened to the Lapiths

_Chapter Three: What Happened to the Lapiths_

Harry found the train ride much more pleasing once Draco Malfoy and his two guards had joined him. Well, only Malfoy himself had truly joined Harry, Crabbe and Goyle – Harry still hadn't bothered to put to memory which was which – remained outside with the closed compartment door between them.

Harry soon realized why they didn't bother to sit in the compartment themselves, as they turned away student after student wanting to see 'Harry Potter' – some more forcefully than others. Those who would have worked their way into Harry's presence were loud, and none of them spoke the old tongue, much to his disgust.

But that was outside the compartment. Inside was quiet, and only the dulcet tones of the old tongue broke the easy stillness.

Draco Malfoy surprised Harry with this quiet, as Harry had heard for himself that the human possessed the ability to be just as loud and brazen as those outside the compartment. His few words exchanged with Ron Weasley had proven that. But when he addressed Harry, it was always in a quieter tone.

He _knew_ Old Law, Harry realized slowly. And not in the way that Harry supposed most wizards remembered Old Law – as something far in the past. To know Old Law as well as Malfoy did, and to be able to follow it as easily as Malfoy did… Draco Malfoy would have had to have been _raised _in the Old Law for that.

And _that _was noteworthy.

There was a quiet scoff from his companion as Crabbe forced another student away from the door. "Vere non intelligent," (lit: _They really don't understand_) he muttered. "Pater me dicet rem notum non fuisse, sed hoc rediculum est." (fig: _Father told me it wasn't a well-known fact, but this is ridiculous._)

"Quid est?" (lit: _What is?_) Harry asked.

Malfoy sighed, waving at the door in disgust. "Omni Harrium Figulum(1) volunt videre." (lit: _They all want to see Harry Potter._)

"Quis est Harrius Figulus?" (lit: _Who is Harry Potter?_) Harry had wondered that for a while, ever since he'd been labeled with those two names.

"Harrius Figulus tu fuit," (lit: _Harry Potter was you,_) Malfoy replied, "Ante Ritu Liberorum." (fig: _Before the Rite of Childer._)

"Ergo cur poscunt ut mihi illud dicant? (fig: Then why do they insist upon calling me that?)(2)

"Quod non dicti sunt," (lit: _Because they weren't told,)_ Malfoy said easily. "Minimus nostrum Mores Pristinos nunc faciunt, ut si dicissantur dificultates fecissat." (fig: _So few of us practice the Old Ways now, that if they had been told it would have caused problems.)_

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Quid genus dificultatum? (lit: _What sort of problems?_)

Malfoy's smirk was reflected in his eyes as he looked at Harry. "Mudus magorum credit te concervator eius esse; si dicissantur te desertus esse pavor plebes tulisset. Aliqui etiam a tui familia te subductere conantur." (fig: _The Wizarding world believes you are its savior; there would have been mass panic if they had been told you had been abandoned. Some would have even tried to steal you back from your family._)(3)

Harry bristled, his mouth arcing into a snarl at the thought.

"Alium erat," (lit: _It used to be different_) Malfoy added wistfully. Harry waited for him to continue, but anything Malfoy might have said was stalled by the door opening and Goyle – yes that _was _the human called Goyle – stuck his head inside.

"Do you want some pops, Draco?"

Draco thought for a moment and nodded, tossing a few silver coins to Goyle, who caught them easily.

"Get some Frogs, too," he added, leaving Harry rather bewildered. What were pops? And did one really eat them with frogs? He'd eaten frog before and he hadn't had anything special along with it.

Goyle nodded and disappeared for a few seconds before coming back in and dropping some brightly colored objects on the seat next to Draco. He nodded once to Harry before stepping back out.

"Rana Caca(4),"(lit: _Chocolate Frog,_) Draco said, lifting up a bright blue box. "Umquam unum habuisti? (fig: _Ever had one?)(5)_

Harry had never even _heard_ of them. What was "Chocolate"? A specific type of frog maybe? Perhaps denoting where it was found?

"Tum, unum conari oportet," (fig:_ Well, you should try one,_) (6) Malfoy smiled and opened the box.

There was a small brown frog inside which took one look at Malfoy and jumped away from him – right at Harry. Harry caught it and looked at it, puzzled. It certainly _looked_ like a normal frog, but it didn't feel like a normal frog.

"Suave (7) est, quod eundem ac ranam veritatem esse fascinatus erat," (fig: _It's a candy frog, which has been charmed to act like a real frog,_) Malfoy explained, opening another frog of his own. This one he stopped from jumping away, held between two fingers, and ripped off one of its hind legs. He popped the leg in his mouth as the frog he held trashed around and motioned for Harry to do the same.

Harry figured he should at least try it, though it was rather odd to be eating frog before it was cooked. Not that Harry hadn't ever eaten raw food before.

It didn't taste like frog when Harry bit into it, which instantly fell still at contact with his teeth. It tasted… sweet… and unlike anything Harry had ever eaten before.

"Cacaus est," (lit: _That's chocolate_,) Malfoy explained, finishing off his own frog.

Harry decided that he _liked _chocolate.

Malfoy leaned around the other blue boxes and grabbed a strange… candy, hadn't he called it? This one was wrapped in red paper and looked like a big red berry that had been stuck on a stick.

"Haec carum mei est," (fig: _These are my favorite,_) he said, "Sanguis Surculus(8)." (fig: _Blood Lollypops_) And he stuck the lollypop in his mouth quite contentedly. "Pater me illis cum filius fui introduxit," (fig: _My father introduced me to them when I was a child_,) he said around the lolly. "Illa edeo, tantum uti curores terrere matrem, sed amandum illis lucrituleram." (fig: _I used to eat them only to use the gore to scare my mother, but I acquired a taste for them._)

Harry didn't think he would try a Blood Lollypop. He liked blood well enough, but only when it was dripping off of meat.

But he did ask for another frog, to which Malfoy said he could have all the frogs since he really only wanted the lollies. Munching on his next frog, Harry remembered to ask Malfoy about what he'd said before Goyle had interrupted them.

The contentment that had appeared on Malfoy's features as he sucked on the lollypop disappeared. "Multi magi genum eorum Lapithis sequabamur, et magicum eorum donum Apollinis dicebamus – ut iuste fuit. Sed Apollo solus Deorum qui beat libros eius idem dono non est." (fig: _Many wizards used to trace their ancestry back to the Lapiths, and called their magic a gift from Apollo – as it rightfully was. But Apollo wasn't the only God who bestowed upon his children with such a gift._)

He shifted and pulled a clean, white, stick from his mouth, on which had been the lolly, and reached for another one. "Omni magi familia errant, vere. Dei venerati summus, etiam si nostrum genum vario Deo sequtus summus. Sed non durat. Magi Deos – etiam oblivisci – rogare inceperunt. Alii, externus familiae, homines cum impuro sanguo, ipsi cum domo Deorum inveniunt et etiam bilem habuerunt sumere ut partem sui venerit. Nihil reverentiam Mores Pristinos habuerunt, et ut plus plusque eorum in societatem nostrum acceperunt, Mores Pristinos cum novi substituere inceperunt dum etiam antiquior magi familiae obliti sunt. Obliti sunt ubi de magicum vere venit, obliti sunt cur omnes carmines nostrum in prinstina lingua sunt, et vivenum Deos obliti sunt." (fig: _All wizards used to be a family, really. We worshiped the Gods, even if we traced our lineage to different ones. But that didn't last. Wizards began to question – even forget – the Gods. Others, outside our community, mudbloods, found themselves with the gift of the Gods and even had the gall to assume that it came from inside themselves. They had no respect for the Old Ways, and as more and more of them were accepted into our society, they began to replace the Old Ways with new ones, until even the older wizarding families forgot. They forgot where magic truly came from, they forgot why all of our spells are in the old tongue, and they forgot the existence of the Gods._)(9)

Malfoy glared out the window as if he could see in front of him those who had forgotten the Old Ways. "Non omnis nostrum obliti sunt, sed pauci numeri summus. Et in quisque angulo ab agendo Moribus Pristinis impedimur." (fig: _Not all of us forgot, but those who didn't are few in number. And we are hindered at every turn from practicing the Old Ways._) His eyes turned to Harry's and they glowed with a strange fervor. "Illud est cur non quisque sciat te intra Ritum Liberorum obligavisse. Non cogitant te Centaurum esse et non magum; superficiem solum videant. Et etiam si cogitent, quomodo agere non sciant. (fig: _That is why hardly anyone knows that you were bound within the Rite of Childer. They wouldn't understand that you are Centaur and not wizard at all; they would only see the outside. And even if they did realize, they wouldn't know how to behave._)

"Ergo discendi sunt,"(fig: _Then they'll have to learn,_) Harry sneered, "Quod aliquid minorem non siniam.(fig: _because I won't tolerate anything less._)

This seemed to please Malfoy for some reason, but Harry didn't bother asking him to elaborate.

He wouldn't have had the time anyway. The train was stopping, and Harry could hear the excited sounds of students rising even louder than their chatter had been before. A quick look out of the window confirmed it: they were back at Hogwarts.

A loud voice echoed through the train: "We have reached Hogwarts. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

"Tum eamus."(fig: _Come on then_,) Malfoy said, opening the door and stepping out into the crowd. Harry's lip curled slightly at the sight of all the students pushing their way to the door of the train with little to no decorum. Truly, what could be so important that they had to leave before everyone else? It wasn't as if Hogwarts was going to disappear after a certain number of students had crossed its threshold.

Malfoy's two protectors did serve as a rather adequate human shield on either side of Harry and Draco. There was more than one student that they easily pushed out of the way before said student would have bumped into the two boys in the middle. Harry could see why Draco kept them around – in some respects, they were most useful.

The night air was cold, much colder out here in the open than it was in the Forest, where heat remained trapped in a mist upon the ground at night. Harry shivered. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

Harry looked up at Hagrid and waved. Hagrid waved back with a big grin. "All right there, Harry?"

Harry nodded and Hagrid turned to make sure he didn't loose any other first years. "C'mon, follow me – any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Draco leaned in to speak low in Harry's ear, "Qui is est?"(fig: _Who is that?_)

"Hagrid," Harry replied.

Draco paused in thought for a moment. "Eius audivero. Adivi eum aliquantum ferum esse."(fig: _I've heard of him. I heard he's sort of savage._)

"Itaque aliquantus ferus futurus est."(fig: _Well, he'd have to be a bit savage,_) Harry agreed, "Quod dimidius gigas est."(fig: _Considering he's a half-giant._)

That thought appeared rather unsettling to Malfoy, and Harry couldn't hide a grin at the other boy's expense.

The first years followed Hagrid in a clump, slipping and stumbling in the dark as they tried to keep to the steep, narrow path Hagrid was following. Harry thought, more than once, that it would have been much easier to walk without the annoying shoes on and was just about to take them off and throw them away when Hagrid rounded a bend and the trail ended.

The humans made sounds of awe, but Harry could only look up in disgust at the stone monstrosity his Sire had called a 'castle'. It loomed up above them across a huge, black lake, built out of the natural mountain. Even in the dark, Harry could make out where the natural rock ended and the human hewn rock began.

It was even uglier up close than it was from far away.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of tiny boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Draco grabbed the nearest one, with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering in behind them. Hagrid called out "FORWARD", very loudly – needlessly loud, Harry thought – and the boats all moved off toward the castle. Harry felt a strange curl of apprehension twist in his stomach as the castle loomed nearer and nearer; he had to remind himself many times that, if he truly hated the castle, he could go home and never come back, before it settled in the pit of his stomach and stopped its movement.

They clambered up a flight of stone steps and crowded around a huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here?" Hagrid asked, looking around to make sure no one had been lost. Then he raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

The door swung open to reveal a tall, black-haired woman. Her expression was stern; Harry recalled seeing a similar expression on his Sire's face when one of the younger warriors did something stupid. Yet her expression seemed fixed, as if she wore it all the time.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid." She even _sounded_ severe. "I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide, and from the startled expressions of other first years, Harry gathered that most humans weren't used to seeing such big structures. Beside him, Draco didn't look all that impressed. Harry, of course, was used to the Forest – great rafters towering above him were nothing compared to the high arcing bows of the tallest treetops.

They followed McGonagall across the stone floor of the entrance hall. At its other end were another pair of great oaken doors, smaller than the first pair, but huge nevertheless. Blocked behind it, Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices. The rest of the school must be waiting there, Harry thought.

McGonagall slowed in front of the doors, turning to face the first years. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will loose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

With that, she turned, and flung open the doors of the Great Hall.

Harry nearly bucked and ran the other way. The Great Hall was a huge, open room, much bigger than the largest clearing in the Forest. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables that ran the length of the room. Sitting at these tables were hundreds of humans, all talking with raised voices so as to hear one another over the din of the rest. At the far end was another long table where older humans were sitting – Harry assumed these were the teachers.

Professor McGonagall led them forward, down the center of the Great Hall. The other students turned in their seats to watch the procession of first years, and Harry found himself looking up to avoid their gazes.

For a moment, he thought he was back in the Forest again, as he saw the heavens stretched out above him. But then he saw something off about how the heavens looked, and he caught sight of the shadowed forms of a ceiling beyond the stars.

"It's not real, the ceiling," he heard a girl whisper to someone behind him. "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts A History_."

Still, it settled some of those strange, nervous feelings that Harry had been trying to keep at bay.

McGonagall had slowed at the end of the four tables and stopped next to a three-legged stool. On the top of the stool, she placed a pointed wizard's hat.

Harry realized, belatedly, that everyone else in the hall had fallen silent and was staring at it. He didn't see what was so special about it, personally, but he dropped his gaze to it, nevertheless.

As he watched, the hat twitched and began to sing.

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, but don't judge on what you see,"_

Harry blinked at it, unimpressed. What _were _these humans trying to accomplish, making a hat sing? Weren't they supposed to be Sorted right now?

"_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat."_

Oh. Well, it was still a silly idea, anyway.

Despite trying to pay attention as the hat sang on about the qualities of the four houses – probably something Harry should have been listening to, as he was soon to be placed in one of them – but his eyes kept flickering to the ceiling and the stars it showed.

Venus was still rising.

The whole hall burst into applause and Harry realized that the hat was finally done. Tearing his eyes away from the stars, he again refocused them on the professor in front of him, who had stepped in front of the hat holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

Harry watched a little, pink faced girl separate herself from the group of first years and walk up to the stool. She sat down upon it and McGonagall placed the hat upon her head. After a moment a shout rang out across the hall:

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Harry nearly jumped at the noise. Why did the hat have to be so _loud_?

The girl jumped off the stool and walked over to the Hufflepuff table, so noted – or so Harry surmised – by the banner hanging over it.

More students' names were called, as McGonagall continued down the list in alphabetical order of their second names – or so Harry thought. He still wasn't sure on how humans named themselves with those two – and apparently sometimes more – names.

"Malfoy, Draco."

And here she was even calling them backwards, because Harry was _sure_ that Draco called himself "Draco Malfoy" and not "Malfoy Draco". Oh well, he'd figure it out eventually.

He watched Draco swagger forward to the stool and sit down. The hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Crabbe and Goyle had already been sorted ahead of Malfoy, and they'd saved him a seat between them. He smirked at Harry from across the room, and Harry found himself smirking back.

There weren't many first years left now, and McGonagall continued to call names. Moon, Nott, Parkinson… and then:

"Potter, Harry!"

Harry couldn't suppress a glare in her direction as he slowly walked forward, mentally thanking Draco for informing him of how these humans didn't want to acknowledge who he really was. He would have to do something about that… and soon.

He was vaguely aware of whispers following his movements, and students leaning out of their seats to look at him. He looked over at McGonagall's parchment as he passed and frowned to see his name written there as it should have been, merely Harry. Why, then, had she called him by Harry Potter?

But then he had sat down on the stool and the hat fell over his eyes. He waited.

A small voice murmured in his ear. "Difficult, very difficult. Don't really think of yourself the way we do, do you Harry? Plenty of talent, and a sharp mind, but I get a sense that you don't think you belong here with us. You have things you must know, and then you'll leave us, eh? Well, then there's only one place I can put you."

"RAVENCLAW!"

The hat shouted the last word to the hall and Harry headed for the Ravenclaw table, ignoring, for the most part, the ecstatic cheering of those at the table. He didn't understand why they were so happy, and why the rest of the students looked so glum. Especially Draco, he noted as he cast a glance at the Slytherin table.

* * *

Draco ignored the attention of his year mates, bypassing all the Slytherins who swarmed into their common room after a few short, explanatory words from their Slytherin Prefect, and heading for the boys' dormitory. The dormitory was arranged like a honeycomb, with octagonal rooms – eight beds to a room – lined up like a maze around the center hallway. He found the first years' room easily, and quickly identified his own trunk. He only barely noted Crabbe and Goyle settling silently onto their beds as he flung himself onto his own. After a few minutes of silence, Crabbe spoke.

"Do you want us to leave for a bit, Draco?"

He did want that. Very much. So they left, and he could hear them lingering in the hall for a moment before heading back down to the common room. Draco turned over onto his back, flicking the bed curtains closed, and stared up at those same curtains.

He should write his father. He knew his father was expecting him to write. His father would wanted Draco to tell him where he'd been sorted – as if he could have been sorted anywhere but Slytherin. Tell him which other purebloods had also been sorted into Slytherin, and which had not. _Tell him about Harry Potter_.

But how could he write that he had failed? And when he'd been so close, so sure of himself.

After his father had worked so hard to make sure Draco didn't screw up.

Draco banged his head back against the headboard – hard – trying to blink the tears from his eyes that he knew would eventually fall. Eleven years of his father's hard work and Draco had ruined it in one day!

His father had made sure that Draco was brought up in the Old Ways. He'd ordered Draco's mother to speak only Latin in Draco's presence, and thus Draco had been conversing in the old tongue practically from the cradle. He'd memorized all the Rites before he'd turned five, before he'd even learned English! Anything that wasn't part of the Old Ways had been practically cleaned out of the manor before Draco had begun to walk. He'd never even _touched_ modern parchment until Crabbe had brought over a book made from it one day – and oh how his father had made Crabbe's father punish Crabbe for _that_!

His father had told Draco over and over about Harry Potter – though he shouldn't ever be called that to his face. He'd told Draco about the fall of the Dark Lord, and how Harry had been adopted by Centaurs. It was important, he'd told Draco again and again, so _very_ important, to always follow the Old Ways when Harry was around – and, in fact, even when he wasn't. As long as Harry remained a Centaur, as long as he wasn't corrupted by blood traitors and mudbloods, Harry wouldn't care when the Dark Lord rose again – and the Dark Lord _would_ rise again.

And his father had asked Draco to befriend Harry because of this, had taught Draco the Old Ways from birth to insure that Harry had no cause to turn him away. He'd _promised_ Draco that, if Draco could only reach out and touch him, Harry would become Draco's very best friend.

It was the only thing his father had ever asked him to do. And he'd failed.

Draco still couldn't see how he'd gone wrong – everything had been _perfect_ until Harry put on that stupid Sorting Hat!

Ravenclaw.

Draco slowly dragged his hands down over his face as he heard the sounds of his House mates slowly heading off to bed. He would write his father in the morning.

"Stultus, stultus, stultus!" (lit: _stupid, stupid, stupid_) he muttered, banging his head back against the headboard in time with his curses.

He would write – just not now. He couldn't write now.

* * *

If Harry had realized how thoughtful it had been of Hagrid to give him an owl, he would have thanked the half-giant even more profusely than he had that morning. It was well past midnight, all of the other Ravenclaws had finally left him alone in the common room. Didn't humans need to sleep? he wondered as a few stragglers remained in their own quiet corners reading some book or another. Oh well, as long as they continued to leave him alone and read in silence, he didn't really care what they did.

He turned back to his letter with renewed interest. He had so much to say to his Father and Sire, but he knew that he would forget all the details before the next morning – there were just too many of them. He'd already filled three rolls of papyrus and he'd only just gotten to his thoughts on the strange Sorting Hat.

Which reminded him to ask about Venus and Mars. Venus had been where he'd expected her to be, mid-way through her rise across the heavens, but Mars had not been in the right house – or so he'd thought. He was still young, he could easily misinterpret the stars, but he truly felt something was important about where the god of war had placed his planet that night. He'd tried reasoning it out for himself during the feast, but he'd kept getting interrupted by the different students around him, wanting to know things about Harry Potter – facts which didn't exist as surely as Harry Potter himself didn't exist. He would have to ask his Sire what to do about that; he refused to be called "Harry Potter" any longer than necessary.

And he had a sneaking suspicion that the humans hadn't informed his Sire that they wished to call him such in their presence.

His housemates were, on the whole, passable for humans. Which was pleasing – it showed that the strange Sorting Hat had been created well. But passable, Harry had to admit, was far from worthy. In fact, he'd only met one human who'd been worthy, but he had been sorted into a different house – which was most displeasing.

Perhaps, he thought, it was time to act a bit rashly – like Father. All of the houses had sat with their respective housemates for the feast – but what rule was there which stated that they had to do so at every meal? Schedules would be handed out before breakfast – one of the Ravenclaw prefects had told the first years before heading off to her own yearmates, and as far as Harry could see this was the only reason to remain with his house for even part of the first meal.

Harry cast one quick look out the window, seeing Venus still in her rightful position and Mars in his strange one, and returned to his letter. He would have Hedwig deliver it in the morning.

* * *

Draco didn't feel much like eating the next morning, pushing his eggs around his plate morosely with his knife. He'd been trying ever since he'd woken up that morning to figure out how to explain his failure to his father, mentally composing letter after letter, each one more inadequate than the last. He couldn't put it off forever, he knew, and if he didn't write today his father would be already displeased by the delay even before he read Draco's words.

_Dear Father…_

But how to write what Draco couldn't even bring himself to say out loud?

_Dear Father…_

Draco pushed his half-eaten plate away and stifled a groan. It was hopeless. Perhaps the direct route would be best. Just tell his father he'd failed and hope his punishment wasn't too severe.

Draco hid a shudder. Punishment would have to be delayed until the winter holidays, wouldn't it? His father would have ample time to come up with something truly… fitting of Draco's failure.

"Budge over. I'm going to sit there."

Draco blinked at the words, spoken in a slow slur reminiscent of Latin elision. They were spoken carefully, as if the user truly disliked the sound of the syllables across his tongue. He turned sharply as Crabbe hastily moved over on the bench, taking his plate with him, and Harry sat down in his seat as an empty plate appeared in front of him.

"Salve, Draco," (lit: _Hello, Draco_) he smiled as he began loading fruit onto his plate.

"Cur hic sedes?" (fig: _Why are you sitting over here?_) Draco asked carefully, ignoring the strange looks other Slytherins were giving them over the use of Latin. "Adne corvi ungularum mensam sis?" (fig: _Shouldn't you be at the Ravenclaw table?_)(10)

Harry eyed the table as if just realizing that the students segregated themselves by house. "Quieti satis sunt, conicio, sed non comprehendunt. Me patientiam conantur. Ergo hic sedes. Te mensam horarum videam." (fig: _They're quiet enough, I guess, but they don't understand. They try my patience. So I'm sitting here. Let me see your timetable._) (11)

Draco fought down a broad grin as he fished out his timetable from where he'd absently stuffed it between two books after his head of house had handed them out. Harry began comparing them instantly, naming off what classes they had together, deciding that in every class they did share that they would have to make sure to get seats near a window.

He hadn't failed, Draco thought with a giddy abandon. Not failed _at all_.

* * *

_Dear Father,_

_As expected, I have been sorted into Slytherin House. The Parkinsons' daughter, Zabinis' son, Notts' son, and of course Crabbe and Goyle, were also sorted into Slytherin House. The Abbotts' daughter was sorted into Hufflepuff, however, and Turpins' daughter was sorted into Ravenclaw. Harry Potter was also sorted into Ravenclaw, but he doesn't like them. He chooses, instead, to sit at the Slytherin table for meals and to sit with me in all the classes that we share. He hardly speaks to anyone other than myself because of his obvious dislike of English. No other students seem to have caught on to the fact that he is not what they think he is – it was especially amusing to see the look on the Weasley's face when Harry chose me over him._

_Please tell mother I am thinking of her and that I will write soon._

_Your son,_

_Draco Lucius Malfoy_

**Footnotes  
****(1) **_Harrium Figulum_ - It has come to my attention that there is an _actual_ "Latin translation" of Harry Potter's name: Harrius Figulus. This places name in the second declension. Fine by me… I was going to make them both thirds – sorry guys I _have_ to decline everything… it's LATIN, that's what Latin does! So don't get thrown if _Harrius Figulus, Harrii Figuli, Harrium Figulum_, or _Harrio Figulo_ show up!  
**(2) **_Ergo cur poscunt ut mihi illud dicant_ - Yes, I went WAY figurative on this… kinda had to. It literally says, "On account of that why do they insist that they call me that?" Gotta love jussive noun clauses…  
**(3)** _Mudus magorum credit te concervator eius esse; si dicissantur te desertus esse pavor plebes tulisset. Aliqui etiam a tui familia te subductere conantur_. - Another very free translation. It literally says "The world of wizards believes you are its savior; if they had been told you were abandoned, panic by the masses would have been made. Some would have even tried to steal you away from your family."  
**(4)**_Chocolate Frogs – _These posed a problem, because not only is there not a word for "chocolate" in the Latin language, there isn't even a word for "candy". Hadn't been found/invented yet, as far as I can see. This is why there is a footnote on "sweet things", which I have termed "candy" figuratively. For chocolate, however, since it is a very specific word which gives a very specific image, I created my own Latin word for it. If you were to look it up in a Latin to English Dictionary, this is the entry you would find (if it existed anywhere but in my head):  
cacaum, -i, n. _chocolate _(noun form, second declension)  
cacaus, caca, cacaum, _chocolate_ (first and second declension adjective form)  
As you can see, it derives from the word "cacao" – appearing without change in the dative and ablative singular for the noun and masculine adjective forms – which is the tree from which chocolate, as a confectionary, originates.  
**(5)** _Umquam unum habuisti?_ – Another highly modernized figurative translation. (Hey, it happens, as my fellow Latin students will tell you.) Literally: "Have you ever held one?"  
**(6)** _Tum, unum conari oportet – _Yes, my fellow Latin scholars, literally Draco says, "Then, one should try one". Sounds too formal though, ne?  
**(7)** _Suave_ – This only has a footnote because of the fact that, like many things, the Romans lived in a time pre the invention of "candy". They also lived pre the invention of "sugar" (the Greeks had the word that became our modern day derivative but the Romans did not as far as my dictionary tells me). Anyway, because Draco and Harry (and we all) _do_ live in a time where confectionary sweets are in abundance (and much liked) I have decided to use the neuter adjective form of the word _suavis, suave _meaning "sweet" as "candy". Literally, it would translate to "sweet thing", which – I figure – is pretty much how we view a "candy", right? From here on in, I will use "suave" in its declinable forms _only_ when in reference to "candy", to keep things systematic and as un-confusing as possible (for both you and me). I will use a different pleasurable adjective to describe "sweet" in however else I may need the attribute.  
**(8)** _Sanguis Surculus_ – Yes, yes, fellow Latin students, laugh it up. For the rest who aren't laughing, I'll explain. You guessed it, the Romans didn't have "lollypops" per say, but they did have little plant stems which were sweet to suck on… which they called "suckers". Most literal translation of "surculus" I'm afraid, in that sense. So, literally, Draco's favorite candy is a "bloody sucker"… ha ha, ne?  
**(9)** _et vivenum Deos obliti sunt_ – literally: "and they forgot the living gods". Oh gerunds, how do I love thee… translating you in a way that makes you sound anything but stilted or lofty is pure hell…  
**(10)** _Adne corvi ungularum mensam sis?_ – Instead of declining Ravenclaw, I broke it down. Literally: "Shouldn't you be at the table of the raven claws?"  
**(11)** _Te mensam horarum videam_ – Literally: "let me see your table of hours"

**Additional Notes:  
****1.** _Chocolate Frogs_ – I'm sorry if I squicked anyone by my description of the candies, but did anyone other than myself go "ewww" at the first mention of them way back in the first book? They have since grown on me (not as much as Blood Lollypops!) but I still can't shake that gut reaction of "how can they eat something that moves and _hops_ like it's alive and call it a candy!?". I, sadly, am merely a primitive muggle and don't understand such concepts.  
**2.** _Haec carum mei est_ – I know there seems to be so very many notes for this fic, but can you just allow me to fangirl!spazz for a moment? I mean, I like my native tongue a lot – in fact I use it every single day – but it's just so _bland_ compared to the Latin! Literally translated, this phrase is: "These (things) are my beloved thing". Now, compare that to the boring old "These are my favorite"… I mean, Romans didn't do things by halves here! (end fangirl spazzing now…)  
**3.** _Draco Malfoy and Latin_ – So, I assume you all went "what?" when Harrius Figulus showed up. And then I assume others of you went "Wait… she didn't decline Draco's name!" No I didn't – or at least I didn't appear to. Technically, I did, but they appeared in the nominative. For what I've figured out, the nominative of "Draco Malfoy" is "Draco Malfoy". Draco's first name when translated into Latin is easy – draco, draconis, m. _snake_ (sorry, guys, 'dragon' came later… Romans didn't have them in their myths…). I'm sorry to everyone who lengthens Draco's name to Draconis and calls it his birth name or something, but you're wrong. All you've done is made it a possessive form. Now I could have fiddled with his last name, maybe gone back to the Latin roots "malus fides"… but though the name defiantly has the "bad faith" twist… it's not his title, it's his last name. Romans didn't give themselves attributes as their familial names, and even if I did call him Draco Malus Fides… it would mess up the Roman name scheme something awful. His first name would be Draco, his "middle" name would be Malus, and his "family" name would be Fides… not the same inclination as Malfoy. So… I made Malfoy a third declension noun, "Malfoy, Malfonis, m. _the name of several families of the _gen_ Malfoy_". I will remind people of this in a footnote when/if a genitive of his name shows up.  
**4.** _Draco Lucius Malfoy_ – Ok, I griped to you enough in the last note about Draco's name, so I guess it's only fair to defend myself for this one. Basically, I Romanized Draco's name. Roman males traditionally had three "names". The first was the "given name" or "praenomen" – in this case, Draco. Second was the name of his father, the "gentilicum", i.e. the direct family of his bloodline that he was born into, so for Draco it would be "Lucius". And lastly the "cognomen", the name of the bloodline he belongs to, i.e. Malfoy. So there you have it: Draco Lucius Malfoy.

**status: beta'd by Ayeshah Harvey-Lomas**


	4. The Transfiguration Professor

_Chapter Four: The Transfiguration Professor_

Harry was still trying to puzzle out exactly what information was on his timetable, when students began leaving for their first classes of the school year. He understood the classes themselves well enough – and the fact that for every class he shared with Slytherin, there was a class he shared with Gryffindor, and yet another he shared with Hufflepuff – but he was still having problems fathoming what these _weekdays_ were. He'd assumed, when he'd first seen the little boxes all carefully printed out, that each block was a day. Yet, there weren't enough little blocks to satisfy the days in a months' time. And nowhere was printed the Kalends, Nones, or Ides (1). When he'd finally mentioned this to Draco, the other boy had blinked and then launched into an explanation about how wizards had further separated the days of the month.

Harry wasn't sure he understood this new way of viewing the days of the month; it seemed terribly complicated, with each month separated into about four weeks – not evenly either! – and each week separated into seven days. Five of these days, he was expected to go to classes, and for two he was not. These two extra days weren't printed on his timetable, which was another source of confusion for Harry. He, personally, didn't even think these days worth segregating. Surely, if they went to classes for the full seven days, they could learn so much more, which would result in the school year ending that much faster.

But, apparently, this seven-day rotation was how it was done, and was yet another thing that Harry apparently couldn't correct the humans on. He was beginning to understand why his Sire had warned him about that.

Draco and Harry parted ways outside the Great Hall, with Draco reminding Harry that it was Wednesday, so to follow that day's class outline. Nothing on the Wednesday column really interested Harry: History of Magic with Gryffindor, Charms with Hufflepuff – and then, after lunch – Herbology with Hufflepuff, and Defense Against the Dark Arts with Gryffindor. But after dinner there was Astronomy with Slytherin, so Harry at least had that to look forward to.

Harry didn't even make it to History of Magic before he ditched his shoes and socks behind a suit of armor belonging – according to the small plaque – to Sir Guencoew the Foolhardy. He had no wish to continue walking up and down all the many staircases of Hogwarts with those added weights on his feet. Besides, the robes were long enough that no one would notice if he was wearing the human foot apparel or not.

He navigated the staircases and halls of Hogwarts with ease, which was apparently not the norm, if the loud exclamations of his fellow first years were to be taken into account. Then again, he was used to the Forest, where the pathways changed everyday depending on the weather, sunlight, or on which plant had consumed another. The staircases did move, but only in a fixed rotation, which he memorized quite easily. He would just as easily catalogue all the other oddities of Hogwarts – walls pretending to be doors, steps that weren't really there, windows that opened during a certain time of day and only in the right weather conditions. For now, it was interesting, but Harry could see that it would quickly become mundane.

There were few other students in the History of Magic classroom when Harry entered, which boded well for finding a seat nearest to a window. It wasn't a very good view, but he could just see the western edge of the Forest, and that would do.

Other first years trickled into the room in clumps, and the room got progressively louder as they did so. One of these groups included Ron Weasley, who gave Harry a strange look before sitting down near – but not next – to him. A girl eventually did sit next to him, a Gryffindor from the look of her school robes, and when she spoke, Harry recognized her as the girl from the evening before who had read about the Great Hall's ceiling in a book.

"I'm Hermione Granger." She smiled at him as if she had not just been utterly disrespectful.

Harry gave her a long look, debating whether or not he should answer her. "Meliorem quam dicere mihi in illa lingua scias," (fig: _You should know better than to speak to me in that language,)_ he finally said. Perhaps it would be foolish to attempt to teach these humans how he should be treated, as his Sire had warned him, but he would at least try.

Ron Weasley was frowning at him, but Hermione Granger merely looked puzzled. She was going to ask more questions, Harry realized, but anything she might have said was interrupted by their Professor.

Harry very much hoped that none of the other teachers taught in the same way as Professor Binns. Binns was a ghost, which was a novel concept for about three minutes, until he had finished calling the roll and began to lecture. He droned on and on about Wizarding history, starting – very ignorantly, Harry thought – after the decline and fall of the Roman Empire. It was all new information to Harry, who had never bothered to study what wizards had actually done after the decline of the Old Ways. All around him, students scribbled notes furiously and Harry wondered how that could possibly help them learn. At best, they could only be paying half of their attention to what Binns was actually saying, as the other half was spent trying to interpret that onto paper.

Hermione Granger looked up once or twice at him during the lesson, frowning and returning to her notes a moment later. When class ended, she stopped him as he attempted to leave.

"Do you want a copy of my notes?" she asked. "I saw you didn't write anything."

Harry looked at her levelly, and he could see a few other students stop to look at him as well. When would this girl get the hint?

"I do not need your notes," he finally said, slowly, as the harsh English syllables crashed around his tongue and into the air.

"But you didn't take any-"

Harry wanted to get to his next class and this was only hindering his progress out of the classroom. So he cut her off. He spoke slowly and efficiently, using the fewest English words possible, beginning with what had been Professor Binn's first date, and proceeding through all of the points that the Professor had made for the first five minutes of class.

Students were staring at him as he finished and brushed past her, into the hallway. He ignored the whispers that followed after him, as the other students muttered about how such should be expected of _Harry Potter._

Only Hermione Granger was silent, staring after the boy's retreating back, noticing for the first time that he wasn't wearing any socks or shoes.

* * *

Harry did not have greater expectations for Charms than what he had seen in his History of Magic class. This classroom's windows were too high up on the wall for him to look out as he memorized the lecture, and there were more students in the classroom when he entered than there had been in his previous class.

Probably because that girl had held him back after History of Magic was over, and he'd foolishly wasted time shutting her up.

"Ave," (lit: _Hail_,) a quiet voice said, and he turned to see a Ravenclaw seated at a desk to his right. She was slender and prim-looking, with olive skin and dark brown eyes. She actually looked more Greek than British, to Harry's eyes, and he eyed her for a few minutes before sliding into the empty desk next to her.

"I was surprised," she said at last, as the chatter grew loud enough that they could speak without fear of being overheard, "to see that Harry Potter followed the Old Ways."

Harry looked at her for a long minute, weighing whether or not to bother speaking to her. She had certainly guessed more than the Gryffindor girl from before.

But she didn't seem to expect Harry to speak to her. "My family remembers the Old Ways," she confided, her voice low and lilting. "They feel they cannot practice such nowadays, in the open, but inside our house we still live the Old Ways." She gave him a piercing look. "I heard what you said in History of Magic, and though I am not proficient enough in the old tongue to know what exactly you said, I know enough to grasp what you meant. I don't know what you are planning to do, Harry Potter, but I want you to know that my family is not the only family who remembers that we were all once of impure blood, and that it was only through the Old Ways that we gained the standing we hold now. We will be watching you, Harry Potter."

Harry did not know quite what to say to this girl, who knew so much and yet also knew so little. "There is little point in you watching Harry Potter," he said as the tiny Charms professor, Professor Flitwick, hopped up onto a pile of books and began to call the roll. "If you are to watch anyone, you should watch Harry."

Professor Flitwick reached Harry's name, squeaked, and toppled out of sight. Harry didn't deign to bother saying that he was present.

* * *

By dinner time, Harry had lost interest in classes. History of Magic had been boring, Charms inadequate, Herbology inferior – as he already knew more than enough about plants from living in the Forest, and Defense Against the Dark Arts had been pointless. Two classes with both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff each, the students of which he could see were easily stepping into the assumed characteristics of their houses with little thought.

He seriously considered taking his books and leaving; from what he had seen so far, he could teach himself everything that these humans could teach him. But he had not yet had his first Transfiguration class, and – from what he had gathered of the subject – that was the only class he really had to pay attention to.

That was the class that would teach him how to change something into something else.

His first Transfiguration class was – according to his timetable, _if _he was finally reading it right – his last class tomorrow. And it was with Slytherin.

There was an empty seat next to Draco at dinner, with Crabbe and Goyle seated only on one side of him. It was, of course, for Harry.

"Audio quid fecis in Historia Artis Magicae," (lit: _I heard what you did in History of Magic,)_ Draco said as Harry slid into the seat wearily. "Volo me ibi fuissem; fuisset ludus videre vinces hominem cum impuro sanguo similes illud." (fig: _Wish I could have been there; it would have been fun to watch you show the mudblood up like that.)_(2)

"Es homo cum impuro sanguo?" (fig: _She's a mudblood?)_ Harry asked. He hadn't noticed.

Draco nodded. "Plus quam dimidium discipulorum ibi sunt homines cum impuro sanguo. Ista Hermione Granger una eae est." (fig: _More than half the students here are mudbloods. That Hermione Granger is one of them.)_

No wonder she had been so clueless. Harry shrugged and dug into his dinner.

* * *

There was just enough time between dinner and his first Astronomy class to complete the assignments he had been given from his first four classes at Hogwarts. Draco met him on his way up to the Astronomy Tower, his companions following along as always.

This was one class Harry had wanted to get to early. He wanted to be sure to get the best spot for viewing the stars. The Astronomy Tower was open to the night sky, and Harry circled it for a few minutes, looking up, before choosing a spot in the middle of the Tower to sit down.

Draco had been silent throughout the process, watching Harry with interested eyes. He chose the seat next to Harry.

He said nothing as their classmates – most of them already tired from their first day of school – joined them. Harry noted that most students were much more subdued at midnight, but it was only an absent thought as he gazed up at his first completely unhindered view of the night sky in three days.

The Professor, a wiry, black-haired woman named Professor Sinistra, began her lecture. It was preliminary stuff, things Harry had learned long ago, so he ignored her.

Draco inched his chair closer as the teacher became more involved in her lecture. "Quid vides?" (lit: _What do you see?)_ he whispered, his gaze joining Harry's toward the skies.

Harry wasn't entirely sure. Mars was still doing strange things on the horizon, but Venus was where he suspected she should be. But there were other, simpler things that Harry could understand.

"Hac nocte Venus es clarus." (fig: _Venus is bright tonight.) _He smirked at Draco's annoyed look. "Erit pluvissimus tempestas," (fig: _It will be a very rainy fall,)_(3) he amended, earning another such look.

"Non vides aliquid tenendum?" (fig: _You don't see anything particularly interesting?) _Draco whispered.

Harry returned his gaze to the sky. "Omnes est studii. Omnes ibi, scis, in motibus stellarum errantium. Dicunt res quae non sciamus de hominibus non obiveamus." (fig: _It's all interesting. It's all here, you know, in the motions of the planets. They tell us things that we were not meant to know about people we might never meet.) _(4)

"Qui hac nocte in caelo vides?" (fig: _Who do you see in the sky tonight?)_ Draco asked, looking genuinely interested.

Harry frowned. "Nescio. Non disco scire illud. Res video – facti, electus, poenae – sed, dum possum seperare cuius haec sunt, tantum conicere possum. Sed non saepe est ut Dei nos uni hominis ostendunt." (fig: _I don't know. I haven't yet learned to tell that. I can see things – events, choices, repercussions – but, until I can separate out to whom these things belong to, I can only guess. Though it is not often that the Gods show us of only one person.) _(5)

He paused, remembering three nights before, when the sky had done just that and spoken of only one person – of him.

Draco 'hmm'ed in thought. "Cum discis haec, te dicere me si vides aliquid de me volo." (fig: _Well, when you figure that out, I want you to tell me if you see anything about me.)_

Harry grinned in amusement. "Ego non sortilegus est, Draco. Scis facere illa non possum." (fig: _I am not a fortune-teller, Draco. You know I cannot do that.)_

The Malfoy shrugged. "Conatus est." (fig: _It was worth a shot.)_

* * *

Hedwig seemed very confused when she found Harry at the Slytherin table the next morning. After wheeling around the Ravenclaw table for a moment, she had spotted him and descended quickly to land on his shoulder, nipping his ear as if reprimanding him for not being where she expected him to be.

He had expanded his letter to his Sire and Father, including his thoughts of the first real 'day' of school – which tripled the length of the letter. He gave it to her, and she stole a bit of his toast before flying off with it.

Draco, reading the Daily Prophet, snorted at the look on Harry's face as his owl flew off with part of his breakfast. His attention was quickly diverted however, when his own owl, a dark brown eagle owl whom he'd named Aetherius, dropped a large package on the table, right on top of the article Draco was reading.

Draco tore it open with gleeful abandon, remarking "Ab matre est," (lit: _It's from my mother)_ to Harry as the string and paper came undone.

The package was full of sweets and candies, and more than one Slytherin at the table eyed them with thinly-veiled jealousy.

"Haec non coquet," (fig: _She doesn't really bake these,)_ Draco admitted, passing Harry some of the small cakes laden with sugar and nuts, "Domus Elves facit. Sed pater egoque licemus ei simulare eam scire quomodo cuoquere." (fig: _The House Elves do. But Father and I let her pretend she knows how to cook.)_

Little cakes, biscuits, fruit covered in all manner of glazes, and – of course – Blood Lollipops, were quickly divvied out between Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and Harry. Draco hoarded all the lollies for himself – though the other three were actually pleased with that – but he was more than willing to share the other confectionery treats.

"Dicam te deligere cacum," (fig: _I'll tell her you like chocolate,) _Draco said, as Harry devoured his fifth chocolate-covered strawberry. "Et ranas cacas mittere." (fig: _And to send some chocolate frogs.)_

* * *

Harry was crossing the courtyard, heading for the Great Hall, Draco, and lunch, when Hedwig swooped out of the sky and dropped a small note into his hands. With a quick nip to his ear, she was off again – heading for the Owlery.

The note was short, written in a sprawling handwriting he had never seen before.

_Dear Harry,  
__I wonder if you would like to come down for lunch. I'm having some guests who say that they got your letter and would like to speak to you.  
__Hagrid_

Harry was out of the courtyard in an instant, all thoughts of lunch forgotten, as he cantered down towards Hagrid's hut.

* * *

He caught sight of Hagrid only moments before he saw the two figures he wanted to see, and then they were cantering towards him as well, and he was lifted up in his Sire's strong arms.

"Sire! Father!" Harry couldn't stop grinning.

"We got your letter, Harry," his Sire said.

"It sounds as if humans haven't changed, for the most part," his Father scoffed, ruffling his hair so that Harry squawked and tried to flatten it down again.

* * *

Harry just barely made it to his Herbology class on time, and he would have skipped it if his Sire hadn't insisted that it would be bad to get into the habit of skipping unnecessary classes. Both Harry and Father had disagreed, but Sire had insisted, so Harry had run all the way back to greenhouse three just in time for his name to be called on the roll

That was one thing that his parents had made quite clear; he should not feel obligated to respond to the name 'Harry Potter' simply because the humans were being ignorant and obstinate. He had meant to start ignoring that name in Herbology, but he had arrived so out of breath and late that he had called out that he was present when he heard 'Harry Potter' on reflex. He would have to start with Transfiguration.

When he thought about it, it would be better to start with Professor McGonagall, considering that he _knew_ that she knew to call him by 'Harry' and had still insisted upon calling him 'Harry Potter'. It was… fitting that her class be the first in which he began to put a stop to all this second name nonsense.

* * *

Draco had saved him a seat next to the window with the best view of the Forest. "A prandio abes," (fig: _You weren't at lunch,)_ he observed as Harry sat down next to him.

"Familiae vedere me venit,"_ (fig: My parents came to see me,)_ Harry responded. Draco nodded in understanding. That would take precedence over lunch, and Harry was certain that if Draco's parents came to visit him that Draco would skip a meal as well. Though he wondered if Draco's Father would let him skip class to visit with family…

Professor McGonagall, like all the other teachers, began class by calling roll. This time, though, Harry was prepared, so when she called out "Harry Potter", he didn't even bat an eye.

Silence filled the room, and Draco looked over at Harry in confusion. McGonagall, too, was looking at Harry, waiting for him to respond. Harry looked back at her with absolutely no intention of speaking.

Finally, the teacher sighed and tried again. "Harry."

"Adsum," (lit: _I am here,_) Harry replied, as if the last few seconds had not just been filled with highly awkward silence.

Draco had finally caught on to what Harry was doing and smirked proudly at him.

McGonagall recovered herself quickly and finished calling roll. She then launched, without pause, into a very stern talking-to.

"Transfiguration," she said, "is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she turned her desk into a pig and back. Harry felt his eyes widen and a gleeful grin cross his face. It had been one thing to hear his Sire speak of it, but it was quite another to _see_ it. He could learn what he needed to learn in this class, from this teacher. He was sure of it. If he had to sit through the other trivial classes to do so, then so be it.

Harry, and the rest of the class, soon learned that they weren't going to be changing furniture into animals for a long time. Their first attempt – after McGonagall went through a rather complicated lecture - was to turn a match into a needle.

By the end of the class, Harry's match was still a slim splinter of wood that would easily light on fire. His only consolation was that so was Draco's, and the rest of the class' for that matter.

It would take a lot of work to learn how to transfigure his lower half into a horse's body, he realized. But he would learn it. Even if it took him all seven school years at Hogwarts.

* * *

That night Harry did not write a letter to his parents; not a long one, anyway. Only a few lines about the Transfiguration class. The rest of the night he spent glaring at a match and willing it to become a needle. By the time that the stars began to set and Sol began his journey across the skies in Apollo's chariot(6), Harry was exhausted in more ways than one, but he still crowed in triumph as he pricked his thumb with the sharp end of his needle.

* * *

Draco, as Harry was beginning to see was customary for the blond, was buried in the Daily Prophet when Harry slid into the seat that was kept open for him at the Slytherin table. Harry noticed that many students still stared at him every morning, as if waiting to see where he sat. He found this very odd and continued to ignore it.

"Non credo," (fig: _I can't believe it,)_ Draco muttered, leaning back from the paper in astonishment. "Aliquis vere in Gringottem frangit(7)." (fig: _Someone actually broke into Gringotts.)_

Harry glanced over at the article in question, seeing the bold **Gringotts Break-In Latest**emblazoned across the top. "Sic?" (fig: _So?)_ He asked, looking for some strawberries among the other breakfast fruits.

"Gringotts a daemones moderator(8)," (fig: _Gringotts is run by Goblins,)_ Draco explained, still in awe, "numquam spoliatus erat, numquam!" (fig: _it's never been robbed before, never!)_

That Harry could understand; the article was suddenly a whole lot more interesting. "Aliquis vere a daemonibus spoliat? (fig: _Someone actually took something from Goblins?)_ he asked, fruit momentarily forgotten.

"Dicunt nemo agere, ut camera eodem die vacuefacitur." (fig: _Well, they say that no one did, that the vault had been emptied the same day.)_ Draco sneered at the words. "Pignero illud non verum esse. Pignero eos nolle nos scire aliquid abfuisse." (fig: _I bet that's a lie though. I bet they just don't want us to know something was stolen.)_

Harry disagreed. It wasn't like Goblins to lie about whether their possessions had been taken or not. True, whatever was stored in this bank wasn't the Goblins' own, but the Goblins would still view the items as rightfully theirs until the owners came to get them back. If the Goblins had said that nothing was taken, then Harry knew they were telling the truth.

He shrugged and went back to his search for fruit. Fridays, he thought, as he glanced at his timetable, were likely to be good days. A class with Slytherin, Potions, took up the entire morning – a double class, Draco had called it, and then all the first years had flying lessons in the afternoon until the weather turned cold.

Well, Harry wasn't sure he would like the flying lessons. He liked to keep his feet firmly on the ground. Draco seemed interested in them though, so he figured he would at least see what it was all about.

* * *

Potions took Harry and Draco into the dungeons, near – or so Draco said – the Slytherin common room. Harry personally thought it rather silly that students weren't allowed into all the common rooms, but that was – apparently – another one of those traditions.

Snape, the Potions Professor, like all other teachers, started class by taking roll. He, too, paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new – _celebrity._"

Harry didn't respond, though he was annoyed that apparently McGonagall hadn't informed the other teachers about what had happened in Transfiguration. But Professor Snape didn't appear to want Harry to respond just yet, and continued through the roll unimpeded. When he finished, he stood back and surveyed the class. Harry thought he looked like he was calculating damages, but damages to what Harry couldn't fathom.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with it's shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Harry thought – in the silence that followed Snape's speech – that the ending clause really destroyed most of the dramatic emphasis Snape appeared to be going for.

"Potter!" Snape said suddenly, causing a few students in the back of the room to jump in their seats. Harry, however, was nonplussed. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry didn't know, but he wouldn't have answered even if he did, and the same silence that had appeared in Transfiguration stretched over the Potions classroom.

"You don't know? Tut tut – fame clearly isn't everything."

Harry's expression didn't change, and something seemed to click in Snape's eyes as he continued.

"Let's try again, _Harry_, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

That one was easy, his Father had taught him that long ago. "In uterum capri." (fig: _Inside the belly of a goat.)_

Snape glared at him, knowledge in that glare. "When in my class you will speak – and write – in English or else you will be automatically wrong."

Harry's eyes narrowed in irritation. Next to him, Draco shifted, though it was in confusion and not anger.

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Snape was glaring openly at Harry, ignoring the rest of the students, so Harry could only assume that the question was meant for him.

Very slowly, in clear, unhurried English, he answered. "There is none."

From the look on Snape's face, Harry thought that Potions might be an interesting subject after all, even if not for the same reason that he found other things interesting.

* * *

By the time Potions was over, Harry had somehow lost five points from Ravenclaw, though he had no idea why that would make him as upset as Snape seemed to think he should be.

He was still wondering about it when he and Draco arrived on the Quidditch pitch. Most of the first years were already here, milling around and talking, eyeing the rows of brooms with eager anticipation.

Harry still couldn't see the appeal.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived shortly after and barked for them all to get beside a broom. Harry looked down at his with suspicion. It certainly didn't _look_ like it would support him in flight.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch, "and say 'Up'."

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry blinked in astonishment as the broom beneath his hand jumped into his grip. His was one of the few which had moved on the first order. Draco's had also jumped up to his waiting hand, as had Ron Weasley's and Lisa Turpin's. Most of the other brooms didn't move at all, or lolled to one side as if too tired to jump.

Once all of the brooms had finally been grasped by their riders, Madam Hooch showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end. For Draco, it appeared as if this was one of the most natural things one could do, but Harry felt ridiculous.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your broom steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two –"

But one boy a little down the line was already rising unsteadily into the air, straight up like an arrow, and Harry watched amusedly as those below the boy jostled each other in confusion. He recognized the boy on the broom, from what he could see of the scared expression, as Neville Longbottom, a Gryffindor. He watched the boy stare down at the ground, slide sideways off the broom and fall – with a thud and a nasty crack – back to earth. The broomstick, unlike the boy, was still rising and started to drift lazily toward the castle.

Madam Hooch bent over Neville, her face as white as his. "Broken wrist," Harry heard her in the silence of the other first years. "Come on boy – it's all right, up you get." She turned to the rest of the class with a menacing glare. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'."

As soon as they were out of earshot, Draco dissolved in laughter. "Did you see his face?"

Other Slytherins had joined in laughing, but the Gryffindors were looking at them venomously. Harry looked back and forth between the two groups in amusement. He found no interest in the strange inter-House rivalry that seemed to exist between the Houses, but Draco was not of that same opinion.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped a Gryffindor girl, one of the Patil twins, though Harry had no idea which.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom!" a Slytherin girl, Pansy Parkinson, jeered. "Never thought _you'd_ like fat little crybabies, Parvati.

Draco interrupted whatever reply was about to be spat back by Parvati Patil as he leapt forward and picked something up off the ground. "Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." He held up a strange circular object that glinted in the sun. Harry had no idea what it was, but he heard other students muttering about 'remembralls'.

Draco twisted to look over his shoulder at Harry, broom in one hand, ball in the other. "Volone ludum cum pila? (fig: _Fancy a game of catch?)_ He asked.

"Non in caelum," (fig: _Not in the air,)_ Harry replied, ignoring the muttering of the other students at the shift in language.

But Draco already sat astride his broomstick and kicked off the ground. He obviously knew what he was doing and enjoyed it, Harry observed. From the looks of the other students, he wasn't the only one thinking such.

"Veni, Harrius! Etiam Centauri volandum diligere possunt." (fig: _Come on, Harry! Even Centaurs can enjoy flying.)_

Harry smirked up at Draco. "Habeo pedes in terram brevi tempori. (fig: _I'll keep my feet on the ground for a bit.)_ He wouldn't spoil Draco's fun, but he certainly wasn't going to try flying for as long as he could postpone the experience, after Neville Longbottom's display.

"Perhaps I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find," Draco mused in English. "How about on the roof?"

There was sharp movement from Harry's right and Ron Weasley, face red in anger, urged his broom – shakily – into the air.

"Give it here, Malfoy," he snarled, grasping control of his broom and rising towards Draco.

Draco shrugged. "Catch it if you can, then." And he hurled the Remembrall towards Harry.

Ron dove after it and all the first years near Harry scattered. Harry calmly reached one hand up and the other out as both ball and boy hurtled towards him. The Remembrall he caught first, holding it in the air above his head. He caught the handle of Ron's broom with the other hand, before the other boy, clearly struggling to stop, crashed into him, and turned the broom sharply so that Weasley wheeled around to his side.

Ron still managed to hover, giving Harry a look that was not quite a glare. "Give it here, Potter."

Harry had to give him credit for trying. Well... not really.

"I'd get off the broom if I were you," he said slowly, bringing the remembrall down out of the air and nodding towards the school.

Ron followed his look and settled onto the ground as quickly as he could. Draco was already back on his feet and Madam Hooch could be seen returning to the Quidditch pitch.

* * *

The flying lesson ended quickly, but Hermione lingered on the pitch after the other students had left, searching around in the grass. Nestled right where Harry Potter had dropped it in disinterest was Neville's Remembrall. She picked it up and put it into her bag, right next to the Latin-to-English dictionary she'd checked out of the library the day before. Deep in thought, she walked back to the castle and headed for the Magical Creatures section of the library.

_To be continued_

**

* * *

**

Footnotes:

**(1)**_Kalends, Nones, and Ides - _The Romans counted the days in their months only by numbers, and they reckoned every day by which "special date" it was closest to in succession: the Kalends – the first day of the month, the Nones – the fifth day of the month (unless in March, May, July, and October when it was the seventh), and the Ides – the thirteenth day of the month (unless in March, May, July, and October when it was the fifteenth  
**(2)** _fuisset ludus videre vinces hominem cum impuro sanguo similes illud _– literally says "It would have been fun to watch you defeat the mudblood like that".  
**(3) **_Erit pluvissimus tempestas _– literally: "It will be a very rainy season."  
**(4) **_Omnes studii est. Omnes ibi, scis, in motibus stellarum errantium._ _Dicunt res quae non sciamus de hominibus non obiveamus. –_ literally: "It is all of interest. All is here, you know, in the motions of the wandering stars. They say things which we should not know about people we might not meet."  
**(5) **_Non disco scire illud. Res video – facti, electus, poenae – sed, dum possum seperare cuius haec sunt, tantum conicere possum. Sed non saepe est ut Dei nos uni hominis ostendunt. _– literally: I have not learned to know that. I see things – events, choices, punishments, but, until I am able to separate to whom these things are, I am able only to guess. But it is not often that the Gods show us of one person.  
**(6) **_Sol, Apollo, and who the devil is in the chariot?? _– Whoever has been riding the chariot of the sun has always been an issue to the Romans. Not so for the Greeks, who decidedly call Apollo the god of light and music, but Helios the sun god. For them, it's Helios in the sundisk. However, the Romans adopted Apollo and not Helios. Thus, Apollo kinda "borrowed" the image of the "sun god" from his Greek titan counterpart. However, it wasn't even that clear cut because the Romans still kept their original Tuskan (the Romans themselves were descendants of the Tuskans) "sun god": Sol. And even WORSE, they couldn't seem to decide if Sol was another version of Apollo or his own self! Talk about an identity crisis! So here's my idea. It's Apollo's chariot – i.e. he owns it – but it's Sol who is his charioteer. I mean, whenever an important person rode his chariot, he rode and someone else drove – so the owner could do brave feats of fighting and stuff. So… two gods, one chariot, one sun. Apollo's in charge, Sol's along to keep the horses on the right path. (And let's not even mention Phaethon yet…)  
**(7) **_Gringottem – _Ok, so the "actual" translation doesn't decline Gringotts… but then again, the actual translation declines "Potter" instead of using the Latin word for 'potter' – and the Romans DID have them (for once!) – so, long story short, I am a Latin student so I must decline it too!!! Gringotts, Gringottis m. _Gringotts _– a third declension noun… like many of the strange HP nouns I've already declined.  
**(8) **_daemones – _Well, daemon is what the published version of HP uses for "Goblin", so who am I to argue? (haha, yes I know I've already parted ways with the published version a few times… but there isn't a Latin word for "goblin", so why not stick with what someone else has already done the thinking for me?)  
**(9)** _Nonne volo ludum cum pila – _literally: "You want a game with a ball, don't you?" Expecting a "yes" answer. Yes, odd phrasing, I know… but Romans didn't exactly play "catch"… they just played games with balls…

**Author's Notes:  
****(1) **_Draco's Owl, Aetherius _– Mental hugs and cookies if you know what Draco's owl translates to and what work I stole the name from!!!  
**(2) **_Elves_ – I looked at what I'd written and drew a blank. I don't have the Latin translation of Chamber of Secrets yet… and I didn't think I would run into this problem until I had it. Silly me. So I'm going to have the English take the place of the Latin until I get a "viable" translation of 'House Elf' from someone who has a degree. (Because, of course, the Romans didn't have Elves – neither of the LotR variety, nor the HP variety.)  
**(3)** _Harry Potter Narrative _– There was a lot of quoting from 'Harry Potter and the Sorcerors's Stone' in this chapter, mainly because I want to stay as close to the canon as I can until I wrench away and forge through with my plotline. Mostly these quotes were things that teachers' said in their first lessons because I wanted to emphasize the difference in Harry's reaction to them from how it is in the book. There probably won't be this much quoting once things get going a bit further.

**status: beta'd by Ayeshah Harvey-Lomas**


	5. The Mudblood

_Chapter Five: The Mudblood_

The air was brisk, an odd reminder that it would actually get cold soon, in ways that the Forest never did. Harry was familiar with frost—the Forest ground was often covered in the stuff during the winter months—but the Forest floor never got cold enough for ice or snow.

Harry lay on the cool earth, turning the various flowers around him into saucers. He'd mastered clovers, but the puffy white dandelions were proving tougher to change. It didn't help that whenever the wind blew, or he breathed a little too hard, the fluff of the dandelion would change shape, scattering its seeds on the moving air.

Draco was quiet for a few moments when he came upon Harry, belly-down on the muddy grass, wand pointed determinedly at a weed. A small sigh—a whispered word—came from the wizard on the ground and the dandelion shrunk, spreading out into a small white tea-cup saucer, edged in green.

"Ante obliviscoris, canae veni," (fig. _Come to dinner before you forget again,_) he said.

Harry blinked, looking up at the other boy and then at the sky. Sol was indeed beginning his descent through the lower horizon, so he nodded and pushed himself to his feet. "Ita vero." (fig. _All right._)

"Itaque canam hodie omittere nolis." (fig. _After all, you wouldn't want to miss dinner tonight_," Draco chided him. "Memoriane tenes?" (fig. _Remember?_)

Harry grinned at the reminder. Draco had told him about the evolution of the feast of Feralia after the decline of the Old Ways; how the feast to honor those who had died and to worship the goddess Mania had dissolved into a celebration of things that were scary and the consumption of _lots_ of candy. Certainly, Harry hadn't expected the wizards to keep with the truly ancient practice of the sacrifice of heads—human sacrifice had been outlawed even when the Old Ways had been practiced openly—but he had been hopeful that there would at least be garlic or poppies decorating the Great Hall to pacify the goddess. (1) There had, of course, been nothing of the sort that morning, though Harry noted that several parents—Draco's included—had sent their children the small, grotesque wooden dolls of the goddess to hang on their bedroom doors that night. In response to his disquiet over the lack of offerings, Draco had pointed out that there had been no other Halloween decorations set out in preparation for the feast either.

The Great Hall was now very different than the one they had eaten breakfast in that morning. A group of live bats swerved down over their heads as they entered, before flittering up to join the hundreds of others that circled the ceiling rafters and walls. Candles sprouted from the stems of pumpkins floating in the air above the tables, the flames of which flickered as the bats swooped by. The tables were laden, almost to overflowing, with mountains of candy and food.

Even though there wasn't a head of garlic or a poppy in sight, Harry reached into a caldron of already-unwrapped chocolate frogs with a grin and pulled one out by a leg. Draco was already sucking on a Blood Lollypop and helping himself to a drumstick. The rest of the students were in high spirits as well, digging into the candy as if it were the main course and the other food just extra.

Harry was reaching for a caramel apple when Professor Quirrell raced into the hall, terror etched on his face, his turban and robes disheveled. The chatter in the hall was so loud that there were many students that didn't even notice him until he had reached Professor Dumbledore's chair. "Troll—in the dungeons—" he half yelled, half gasped, over the din of the chatter that fell instantly silent at his words. "…thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

Screaming erupted around the Great Hall, a cacophony that took several moments for even Dumbledore to silence. "Prefects," he rumbled, when he finally had the attention of the entire hall, "lead your Houses back to their dormitories immediately!"

Harry shrunk back into a small alcove in the wall as the Slytherins rose to follow their prefect. When Draco moved to follow as well, he grabbed the blond by the arm and pulled him into the alcove with him.

"Num nunc audis?" (fig. _Weren't you listening just now?_) he hissed loudly over the sound of shuffling feet.

"Aperte plus quam tu; invenire alias corvos ungulas debes!"(fig. _Obviously more than you; you should go find the other Ravenclaws!_)

Harry nearly rolled his eyes at the idea. "Trollus est in carceribus." (fig. The troll is in the _dungeons_.)

As was the Slytherin common room. Draco blanched as he made the connection, though he made no move to go inform the Slytherin prefect of it. "Itaque manemus?" (fig. _So we stay here?)_

"Ita vero. (fig. _We could,_) Harry mused. "Sed… de rem considero." (fig. _But… I'm wondering about something._) At Draco's curious look he continued. "Quam bonus putas ut Quirrellem trolli aspicere possit?" (fig. _How good a look at this troll do you think Quirrell got?)_

Draco frowned. "Non puto ut aspectum optimum reaquireat nam scit ut trollum sit trollum." (fig. _I don't think you'd need to take a very close look at a troll to know it was a_ troll_._)

"Ita vero, sed aliqui gens trolli paene idem magnitudine pondereque quam aliqui gens orci sunt." (fig._Yes, but some species of troll are about the same size and weight as some species of ogres.)_

Draco blinked at the implication. "Gravis non es!" (fig. _You're not serious!_)

Harry nodded with a grin. "Puto ut Maniam deam se vindicet quod apte non venerrit. Quid sponsionem facies ut omnes discipules qui penati dodantur, simul ac cubiculis sui reddent, in ostiis penatem suspendeant, ut Maniam placearit, per si ut orcus (2) eos visitare statuet" (fig. _I think the goddess Mania is getting a bit of her own back because she wasn't worshiped properly. What do you want to bet all the students who were sent little wooden figurines of her hang them on their doors as soon as they get back to their dormitories to appease her, in case she decides to visit them as an ogre?_)

"Quomodo trollum in castellum, res exponere potest," (fig. _It would explain how a troll got into the castle,_) Draco nodded, satisfied with his reasoning, "Propter quam stulti sunt." (fig. _Considering how stupid they are_.) He looked out at the students still filing out of the Great Hall in barely restrained panic, and then frowned.

Harry followed his gaze, now locked on one figure moving against the tide on the other side of the Great Hall.

"Cur Professor Snape cum ceteri magistres non ibat?" (fig. _Why isn't Professor Snape going with the other teachers?)_ Draco mused, as the head of Slytherin ducked out of the Hall in a direction leading away from the stairs to the dungeons. Harry could almost see the thoughts churning in the wizard's head before Draco turned to him, a fiendish light in his eyes. "Sequamur et cognoscamus" (fig. _Let's follow him and find out._)

"Sed tum cenam mei conficere non possum," (fig. _But then I won't be able to finish my dinner,_) Harry protested, as Draco pulled him out of the alcove and back into the hall.

Snape was far ahead of them when they managed to slip out of the Great Hall, and they followed as quickly as they dared, keeping in mind to be as silent as possible. They followed him down one corridor to the next, though they never seemed to catch up to him. Snape seemed as keen to get wherever he was going as they were to follow him.

Draco finally pulled Harry into the shadowed alcove of an unfamiliar staircase as Snape—already at the top of said staircase—paused to unlock a door on the landing.

"Ubi it?" (lit. _Where _is_ he going?_) Draco mused.

"Antron in solo tertio," (fig. _The third floor corridor,_) Harry replied. He'd been that way before already himself.

Draco looked at him in surprise. "Certus est?" (fig. _You sure?_) His eyes narrowed.

"Certus sum. Scalae illae androni in solo terito." (fig. _Positive. That staircase goes to the third floor corridor._)

"Quomodo hoc scis? Discipulis non licet!" (fig. _How do you know that? It's forbidden to students!_)

"Itaque Silva est." (fig. _So is the Forest_,) Harry replied, as if that would explain everything.

Draco blinked before nodding in thought. "Ita vero." (fig. _Good point_.) Obviously the Forbidden Forest wasn't so forbidden to one who had been raised there. If that was the definition of "forbidden", then the third floor corridor probably didn't seem all that foreboding to Harry.

"Cur tam horribiles est, intellego," (fig_. I don't see why it's so horrible, anyway,_) Harry gripped, as Snape slipped through the door and closed it firmly behind him. "Andron pulvenulentus modo, repletus ostiorum claustorum multorum est-" (fig. _Just a dusty corridor filled with a lot of locked doors-_)

"Harrius," (lit. _Harry,)_ Draco interrupted him, "olfacerene nonnihil potes? (fig. can you smell something?)

Harry's nose twitched as he sniffed the rank smell, like a carcass rotting on the forest floor, and a little bit like the dirty laundry his dorm mates seemed to accumulate.

He knew this smell. Pushing Draco further into the alcove behind him, Harry glanced cautiously down the hall, toward the arrival of the creature causing the stench. Draco peered over his shoulder, so close that when he exhaled Harry could feel the boy's breath on his neck.

There was a slow shuffling, and a creature crossed into the passage.

Even out of its natural habitat, the troll was an awful sight. A huge body, seemingly made of earth and clay, with a bulbous, bald head, and legs like tree trunks with feet like the sharpened, splayed roots of those trees.

It crossed the hall, pausing outside an open door.

Draco tugged at his sleeve, face ashen, his words little more than a frantic whisper. "Hoc non orcus est!" (fig. _That isn't an ogre!)_

"Non est," (fig. _No, it's not_,) Harry agreed, assessing the creature before them.

"Hoc trollum montis est!" (lit. That's a mountain troll!)

Harry frowned as the troll lumbered through the doorway. "Parvus trollo montis est." (fig. _It's small for a mountain troll.)_

The wild look Draco sent his way clearly questioned the relevance of that comment, which Harry ignored.

"Veni, exeamus." (fig. _Come on, let's get out of here.)_ Harry wasn't about to take on a troll with just his new wand, as he'd been forced to leave his weapons behind with the herd.

They inched toward the door, watching for any signs of movement that might indicate that the troll had decided to return back the way he'd come.

"Para… curre!" (lit. _Ready… run!)_ Harry pushed Draco in front of him as they bolted past the door and down the hall.

Harry'd just reached the end of the hall when he heard the scream, shrill and scared and feminine. "Draco—"(3)

But Draco was long gone, back into the Great Hall, probably heading as fast as he could for the stairs that would take him to the dungeons. Harry was alone in the hall.

With the screamer. And the troll.

He didn't have his bow. Or anything he could use to defend himself, really. Just his wand…

The scream came again and Harry swore, turning on his heel. He cantered back towards the doorway, unsure of what exactly he would even do once he got there, but sure that he had to do _something_—

—and bumped into another student sprinting, panicked, toward the bathroom from the other end of the hall. He recognized the boy as the one Draco had thrown out on the train.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he demanded.

The boy—Ron Weasley, if he remembered correctly—stuttered out something about an insult and what Parvati Patil had said and how Hermione _didn't know_—

"Be silent!" Harry ordered, pushing the boy inside the bathroom. "This isn't the time for your life story!"

"What do _you_ care?" Ron yelled back. "Hermione's not even from your house. And she's a—"

Hermione's scream interrupted them as the troll swung his club, smashing across the stalls.

"If you're going to help, then help," Harry snarled, looking around the small room, trying to divine a plan of stopping the troll.

"Um, right," Ron muttered distractedly. Grabbing a piece of broken pipe from the floor, he hurled it a the troll's head. "Oy, pea-brain!"

The pipe hit the troll's head with a metallic _thump_, and the troll lumbered around to face the boys. Harry pushed Ron to one side as he himself dove out of the way of the massive club that the troll leveled at where they had stood.

Harry glared at Ron from across the room. "Fatuus es!" (fig. _You idiot!_) he spat. "Quid Furiae potirit-" (fig. _What Fury possessed you to—)_

"_English_, mate!" Ron interrupted frantically, under the illusion that Harry had been barking out orders and not insults.

The troll whirled his club around again and Harry rolled out of the way as the stall behind him shattered, shards of porcelain and wood exploding every which way as water erupted from the ruined plumbing. Harry caught sight of Hermione frantically motioning to Ron, huddled beneath a sink.

Harry wanted a bow—_his _bow. Half-covered in debris, with only the mudblood from class and the boy from the train, who was no help _at all_—his fingers clenched around the smooth wood of his wand—yes, he _really_ wanted his bow.

Ron, standing behind the troll, mimicked Hermione's motions as if reaching for salvation. "Wingardium Leviosa!" he called as the troll reached back to swing again—

—and stumbled forward as his club rose high above his head. The troll paused to gaze at the club, as if he couldn't quite believe it was still hanging there.

"Was that _all_ you could think of?" Harry yelped, scrambling out of the wreckage. But it was a chance—however slim. If he only had _something_ with which to subdue or—better yet—kill the creature…

He could see it in his mind's eye—what he wanted and what he had. He held the one in his hands while wanting the other.

And then they switched. With nothing more than the feeling that _something_ was happening, the wood scraps in his hand shifted and he lifted the bow as he let his wand drop to the floor by his feet. It was instinct to shoot—once, twice—just as the creation of the bow and its arrows had been.

The arrows hit their marks and the troll, howling as the first went in—a jolted, strangled scream—as it fell back, crashing against the wall and slouching to the floor.

The room was oddly still as Hermione rose from her hiding place and Ron gasped in gulps of air like he'd been running for his life, slouched against the wall as if he didn't trust his legs to keep him upright.

Harry looked down at the weapon in his hand, before bending to pick up his wand.

"Is it… dead?" Hermione asked in the stillness.

"Looks that way," Ron replied, eying the fallen lump of troll and the two arrows half embedded in its skull through the eye sockets.

All three of them jumped when the odd, sullen silence was broken by the loud arrival of three teachers; Professor McGonagall burst into the room, followed closely by Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell.

Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart. But the other two looked pointedly from the arrows to the bow in Harry's hand.

"What on earth were you thinking?" Professor McGonagall asked, her voice cold with fury, and though she was looking at all three students, her question seemed aimed completely at Harry. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Harry said nothing. But, from the shadows at his side, came another voice.

"Please, Professor McGonagall—they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione looked determined and yet frail at the same time as she met her head of House's stare head on. "I went looking for the troll because I—I thought I could deal with it on my own—you know, because I've read all about them."

Ron was gaping at Hermione as if he'd never seen anything more amazing in his life, but Harry didn't quite get why this lie was so good. It couldn't possibly get them out of trouble, could it?

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead by now. Ron distracted it, and then… Harry transfigured some wood splinters into a bow and arrow and shot it! They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Ron and Harry tried to look as if this story wasn't mostly new to them.

"Well—in that case…" said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?" Hermione hung her head under Professor McGonagall's glare. "Five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this. I'm very disappointed in you."

McGonagall then turned to Ron and to Harry. "Mr. Weasley and Mr.—" Harry stared stonily at her, "_Harry. _You are both very lucky. But not many first years could take on a full-grown mountain troll. And this—" she gestured to the bow in Harry's hand, "—is also quite an impressive feat for a first year student, especially in a moment of danger. Five points will be awarded to Gryffindor, and ten to Ravenclaw.

"Now, if you're not hurt Miss Granger, you and Mr. Weasley had better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses.

"As for you, Harry," McGonagall continued. "You had better give me that."

Harry handed over the bow with reluctance. He wasn't quite sure he could manage to make another the way he'd made that one.

He still wasn't sure how he'd even made that one to begin with.

But he was distracted from that question by sent which he could only barely detect in the room. Blood. He blinked in confusion. He hadn't thought the troll had actually hit any of them, and if it had wouldn't he have seen—

And then he saw the blood—a dark, oozing gash down Professor Snape's leg, mostly hidden by the Professor's outer robes.

Professor Snape himself was watching Harry with an odd expression, though Harry was sure Snape had seen that he had been looking at his wound.

"You had better return to the Ravenclaw common room, Harry," McGonagall continued, "I will be informing your Head of House and he will take any disciplinary measures he sees fit."

Harry barely held in a snort of contempt as he left. Flitwick(4) didn't care what his students got into as long as they didn't interrupt his own studies.

He was halfway down the hall when Hermione, followed closely by Ron, caught up with him.

"Harry," she said, and he stopped, turning to look at her. "Ago gratiam tibi servanti mei. Sum Hermione Granger.(5)" (fig. _Thank you for saving me. I am Hermione Granger._)

Harry quirked an eyebrow at the Latin, rushed and unsure but clear and without accent. "Cute," he declared it, this child's form of the language. "Cute but utterly meaningless." He turned and was off towards the Ravenclaw common room, leaving the Gryffindors in the corridor.

* * *

"You shouldn't have bothered."

Hermione had almost forgotten Ron was walking with her back to the Gryffindor common room. "What?"

"Trying to talk to him. Did you expect him to treat you differently if you used Latin?"

Hermione looked at Ron with a puzzled expression. "Shouldn't I have?"

Ron shook his head. "It's not like going to another country and learning the language to fit in. The only wizards who speak Latin like that these days are the ones who hate muggleborns. They blame muggleborns for _degrading_-" he punctuated the word with his tone, showing exactly what _he_ felt of this argument, "-our society. They say it's the fault of muggleborns that we aren't still in the golden age of wizardry, when everyone practiced the Old Ways."

"The Old Ways?"

"Yeah. That's the term for the laws that wizards followed, supposedly back to the inception of wizardry—if you believe those tales. They were very detailed about a lot of things and very strict, so over time these rules were replaced by newer laws."

"They were that bad?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know if they were really _bad_ or not. It depends who you ask, I guess. But they were very specific."

"About what?"

"A lot of things. Take muggleborns for example. If a muggleborn appeared in the roster of Hogwarts, before that muggleborn could come to school he or she had to enter into a contract of sponsorship with a member of an upstanding wizarding family. Sort of like a pact, that stated that the mentor would teach the muggleborn how wizards act in society and that the muggleborn would learn and act accordingly."

Hermione was very quiet, so Ron hastened to add, "Or that's what my dad told me."

"So these wizards see muggleborns as forcing their views of the world on the wizards because they in turn wouldn't bother to learn all of the wizarding social values," Hermione mused.

"Only the ones that follow the Old Ways," Ron was quick to point out.

"Those like Harry Potter."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, like him."

_To be continued_

**

* * *

**

Footnotes:

**(1)** _Mania_—The Romans adopted one of the first forms of the "Halloween holiday" after Julius Caesar began conquering Celtic peoples. Mania (pronounced in classical Latin as "may-nee-ah") was originally a Celtic goddess, a woman who would scare little children on the Compitalia and Feralia festivals as an Ogre. Also on this feast, children would hang wooden statues of the Maniae—grotesque little things representing the dead—on their doors. Mania was also worshiped on these feasts. The very first traditions had a human sacrifice—usually one young boy from every family—to fulfill a prophesy that "heads should be sacrificed on the behalf of heads". This form of human sacrifice was outlawed by the consul Junius Brutus, and heads of garlic and poppy flowers were substituted.  
**(2)**_"ogre" translation_—The word "ogre" comes to English from it's French derivative, which is believed to have come from the Latin word for the king of the dead, "Orcus". As I am not referring to Pluto himself, but to the monster, I'm using the word but not capitalizing it.  
**(3) **_Draco—_No, Harry did not speak English here, per say… but does this really need a translation?  
**(4) **_Flitwick_—Yes, Professor Flitwick is the head of Ravenclaw house. I thought it was odd—but potentially useful and/or funny—too.  
**(5) **_Ago gratiam tibi servanti mei. Sum Hermione Granger._—Hermione's Latin is, compared to that of Draco and Harry, much more "Englisized" in word order and choice of phrasing (note the verbs/subjects are in the wrong place, and the—in the Latin—rather stilted use of the participle), to emphasize the fact that she only recently started to work with the language (see Chapter 4).

**Additional Notes:  
****1. **_Continuity—_As is_ h_opefully now apparent, I've begun my great divergence from cannon ("begun" is key here… it doesn't get _really_ different for a while). So Harry has no idea yet about Fluffy, he will in time, just not in the order you're all expecting! (Hey, I've got to keep the plot new and exciting _somehow_!) Also, I'm sort of picking and choosing between the book dialogue and the movie dialogue, though I lean mostly (like 90% of the time) towards the book. If any readers have any specific questions about the continuity, do email me or drop the question in a review.

**status: beta'd by Ayeshah Harvey-Lomas**


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